


Our Father

by Benjamin_Winter



Category: Corruption of Champions
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Breastfeeding, Breeding, Childbirth, Disturbing Themes, Dom/sub, Dominance, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Impregnation, Incest, Loss of Virginity, Magic, Manipulation, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Smut, Telepathy, Vaginal Sex, Violence, antihero, female sub, male dom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 81,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjamin_Winter/pseuds/Benjamin_Winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man known as “the Father” is quickly becoming infamous in the fantastical and chaotic world of Mareth. As a family man with a dark streak, deeply compassionate with his loved ones and coldly cruel to many else, the Father intends to use his various manipulative powers to make his family the greatest that Mareth has ever seen.</p><p>A delightfully disturbing incest extravaganza with lots of father-daughter loving and an endless amount of mental and sexual domination. Based on Fenoxo’s text game <em>Corruption of Champions.</em></p><p>- - -<br/>5/12/2017: The seventh and eighth chapters have been published.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Daddy's Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone who gives kudos has my heartfelt thanks. I do read all comments, so feel free to leave one.
> 
> True to the spirit of the source material, this story is told from an unusual “second-person” narrative. Additionally, the Father’s physical appearance is left intentionally vague and ambiguous (aside from very few stated traits, such as height and eye color) and always will be. This story encourages readers to imagine the Father’s appearance however they personally desire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father shows his cherished firstborn daughter his love like never before.

          It’s been a long time coming – long by this world’s standards, at least – and you’ve been there every step of the way. You watched your daughter be birthed, you watched her hatch from her egg, you gave Kylie her name, you wiped her tears away when she skinned her knee, and you watched her take flight for the first time. Kylie was once a short, fluffy-feathered chickling toddler, but now she’s a tall, nubile, and gorgeous teenaged girl.  
  
          Kylie’s a harpy like her mother Sophie – your first broodmare and first _“wife”_ – but unlike the pitiful things on her mother’s back, Kylie’s wings have thankfully grown into these great deltas of long, golden feathers that can fling her weight from the ground with the quickest twitch of her muscles. Her long hair falls to the small of her back and is the same shade as her mother’s, bright and white-blonde, nearly platinum, but her eyes are the color of yours, a piercing gray, and she’s got fewer long-feathers on her body than her mother, stopping at a fine line on her forearms and calves. The short-feathers of her upper-arms, thighs, and torso are soft and plush, almost like a golden fur. She’s lithe and slender, not half as meaty as her wide-hipped, big-breasted, big-assed slut of a mother, but she still has her curves of her own. With her slim, hourglass body, tall, elegant cheekbones, sloped, button nose, and full, plump lips, your daughter is truly the picture of beauty.  
  
          Kylie’s of your sharp mind, too. Intelligent and inquisitive but always eager for your affection and your approval. You’ve made sure she has a good head on her shoulders, to know when to fight and when to fly, and to know how to use the sickle-like talons of her feet, though, admittedly, your advice on that began and ended with simply, _“Aim for the throat.”_ Kylie knows to be nothing like her ditzy mother – a woman who’d sooner open her legs for an imp than slay it – and she knows to question everyone and everything. Or, rather, everyone but you. But your hard work is finally finished. Kylie is grown now. You’ve done your duty to her, and now it’s time for her to do her duty to you.  
  
          You go to Kylie when the sun has nearly set, just as she’s about to take flight and roost in her and her mother’s nest. She’s wearing an off-white, makeshift bra on her chest and similarly ragged pair of breeches, giving herself some modicum of decency, unlike her always-nude mother. Another teaching of yours. Her body is a treasure to be safeguarded, as you’ve told her, and not some free gift to be teased to others.  
  
          You grab her hand as she smiles to you. “Sweetie,” you say softly, “You’re not sleeping in the nest tonight.”  
  
          “Where am I sleeping?” she asks you with a tilt of her head. She must think you’re pulling some prank on her.  
  
          “In my tent,” you tell her flatly. “With me.”  
  
          Her smile vanishes. No doubt that was the last thing she expected you to say. There’s a curious look in her eyes as she silently studies your gaze, trying to astutely glean some explanation from your expression, but you give her nothing. She’ll find out soon enough.  
  
          You lead the way as you walk Kylie to your tent – the largest in your camp but still far too small for your tastes – and your daughter folds her wings behind herself as she enters with you. When inside, you take her by surprise and turn on a dime as you capture her lips in a kiss, but surprised or not, Kylie doesn’t reject your advance. Only the opposite. She melts under your affection, moaning as she lets your eager tongue enter her mouth to play with hers. There’s no cosmetic or barrier between your lips and hers. Only flesh and flesh. Kylie has none of that drug-laced lipstick harpies are known for on her lips, a whore’s tool that chemically induces lust, a tool you won’t ever be needing with Kylie.  
  
          You put a hand to the back of Kylie’s head, to her long, platinum-blonde hair, and you slip the other down her back, to her brassiere. You have the straps popped in an instant, and when the bra falls quietly to the ground, you break your kiss and turn Kylie away from you. With her back to you, you stand between her splayed wings as you reach around her and put your hands to her breasts, and you crane your neck down and kiss her cheek as you grab two big, groping handfuls of her tits. Her pink nipples poke out from beneath her short, golden feathers, stiff and nubby, hot with arousal. Though her sizable, feathery breasts aren’t overly large like her mother’s, they’re perky and rounded. Well-shapen. _Gods,_ her tits are an absolute _delight_ to hold in your hands, and you can’t resist playing with them. It’s a joy to cup them in your palms and bounce them up and down, to fondle them and grope them and feel how the soft flesh yields pleasingly under your squeezing fingers. You decide to give her a surprise, and Kylie gasps when you pinch your thumbs and forefingers hard over her pink teats.  
  
          “You’ve got great tits, sweetie,” you tell her in a raspy whisper, still kissing her cheek.  
  
          “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers back graciously, being the sweet, good-mannered girl she is.  
  
          You remove your hands from Kylie’s tits and spin her to face you again, and you grab her and pull her into you, taking her into another deep, tonguing kiss. You reach down for her breeches and yank them down in one hard flourish, freeing her tight butt with a light jiggle, making her fully nude. You fill both of your hands with the firm cheeks of her feathery ass, and you sink your fingers into her butt as you grope her again, growling hungrily into your kiss. Again, her bottom isn’t half as blubbery as her mother’s. Kylie’s is cute and tight, not too firm, and perfectly soft. You rear one of your hands up before bringing it down hard, giving her rump a sharp swat, and Kylie reacts with another gasp as her ass jiggles from your spank. Gods, you really could just get onto your knees and sink your teeth into her delicious little butt . . . but you’ll save that for another night.  
  
          “And a great ass,” you add between kisses. “Such a cute, tight little butt.”  
  
          “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers again.  
  
          “You’re prettier than your mother, you know. Sexier too.”  
  
          Kylie’s too humble to respond to that, but you know she’s thrilled to hear it. And it’s absolutely the truth. Your daughter might not have the weight to her curves that her fat-assed mother does, but you’d take Kylie over Sophie any day of the week . . . and that starts tonight.  
  
          Grinning wickedly, you move one of your hands from her lovely ass to the thick, feathered root of her right wing, a few inches from where it joins her back, and you give it a firm squeeze. Her breath catches yet again at the rough touching of her ultra-sensitive flesh, and you almost burst into laughter. She’s like putty in your hands. An easy lover.  
  
          It’s a long time before you tire of kissing and groping your sweet girl, but when you finally do, you break your lips from hers and pull away. As fun as it is to squeeze Kylie’s warm flesh in your hands, there’s yet many more ways her body can give you pleasure. Her pussy’s still waiting for you. “Get in bed,” you order her, and she quickly does as you ask.  
  
          You pull your shirt over your head as Kylie sits on the edge of your cot. You put your hands to your pants and your hard, aching cock springs free when you drop them. Kylie’s eyes lock on your manhood, and – not at all to your surprise – the look in her gaze is a bit more of unease than it is of lust. She’s not her dumb slut of a mother, after all. She’s not a mindless, lustful bimbo receptive to any and all seduction and wooing. She’s wise enough to be nervous of what’s to come. But she’s young, and she’s your child. She idolizes you. She’ll do whatever you ask, and as much as you do truly love her, you intend to use that to your advantage. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie,” you assure her. “You’re my baby girl. This is where you belong, with me, in my bed.”  
  
          She nods and lays down onto her back, folding her wings neatly beneath her. You swiftly climb into your cot with her and plant your knees beside her legs. Her thighs are held closed, and you’ll let her have that little bit of privacy – for now. You put each of your hands to your girl’s perky, fleshy tits, sinking your fingers deep into her soft breasts as you grope her. You give her boobs a few slaps and swats, watching her tit-flesh jiggle for your amusement, and she winces at the sharp pain of it. “Ow,” she squeaks.  
  
          “Hush,” you tell her sternly. “I don’t want to hear any complaints tonight, understand?”  
  
          “Yes, Daddy,” Kylie says hurriedly, and her words give you a swell of fatherly pride. She’s a good girl. A daddy’s girl.  
  
          “Open your legs, sweetie,” you command her, and Kylie obeys you in an instant. A few beads of moisture have already begun to leak out from the tuft of short, golden feathers at her crotch. When you pry the feathers open with two fingers, the pink, virginal slit of your daughter’s teen pussy has nowhere to hide, and you drink up the sight of it. Nervous or not, she’s sopping wet, and her tight, puffy cunny looks ready and eager for her daddy’s thick cock. It’s perfect. A pink little pie ready to be filled with her father’s white cream. When you look closer, you’re greatly satisfied to find a thin, fleshy film guarding her tunnel. Her hymen. You already knew she’s a virgin, but . . . it’s nice to finally see it with your own eyes.  
  
          “Adorable,” you coo to your girl as you ogle her wet slit. “You’ve got the cutest little cooch, you know that?”  
  
          “Mhm,” Kylie hums shyly. She’s just happy you find her pleasing.  
  
          You don’t ogle Kylie for long. You’ve got your eyes on the prize now, and it’s time to plant your flag. You scoot over a bit and put your knees down between your girl’s spread legs, and she meekly opens herself a bit wider for you. You give yourself a few quick strokes as you line up your long, throbbing prick against your daughter’s tight slit, and you give her pink cunt a few prods with your thick, swollen crown. “Ready, sweetie?” you ask her. “Ready to make Daddy happy?”  
  
          A look of fear flashes in her gaze, but she nods to you all the same, never taking her eyes from yours. “Yes,” she whispers.  
  
          “Your pussy’s aching, isn’t it, sweetie?” you ask her.  
  
          “Yes,” she says again with another nod, and there’s a hint of whining desire in her voice. She wants this just as bad as you do . . . and you want it _bad._ Your cock twitches, hungry to break in its newest bitch, and _Gods_ do you have a treat for it. You’ve been waiting for this moment for a _long_ time. Kylie’s been a woman grown for a while now, but you wanted to take your time with her. You’ve been patient, and now, at last, she’s ready. It’s finally time to sate yourself, and you’ve got a great deal of pent-up lust to unfurl. You already know your girl’s pussy is going to smart by the time you’re done with it.  
  
          You push the thick head of your cock into Kylie’s cunt, slipping between her plump outer folds, and it catches against her hymen for just a brief moment before tearing through. Her pink slit is forced to gape around your invading prick, and it widens incredibly to now accommodate your massive, aching manhood.  
  
          “Open up, sweetie,” you grunt, as if your words can somehow goad your daughter’s snug snatch into letting you push your cock through it. “Let Daddy in.” _Gods_ is she tight. The fear tensing her muscles makes her wet pussy seal vacuum-tight around your cock, showering your pecker in a hot, heavenly pleasure. Kylie squirms and writhes in pain beneath you, but that only makes her cunny squeeze tighter on your cock, doubling your bliss.  
  
          “It hurts, Daddy,” she whimpers.  
  
          _“Quiet,”_ you snarl at her, your voice suddenly harshening.  
  
          It isn’t _anger_ darkening your tone, no, never, it’s just . . . _lust._ Crazed, unbridled lust. You rock Kylie’s body with deep, violent thrusts, forcing your cock through her tight cunt, groaning as you greedily ravage her.  
  
          “You’re my baby girl – _nngh_ – and you’re mine,” you grunt, fucking her harder and harder, groaning over her like a lecherous beast. “Your – _rrgh_ – tight, teen pussy – _damn_ – is mine. And when I cum inside you, your – _nngh_ – womb will be mine too.”  
  
          Kylie jams her eyes shut and nods, absorbing your words, and her legs open even wider for you, letting you claim her cunt nice and deep. She’s your bitch. She belongs to you. Her pussy is nothing more than a tight, wet hole for you to cum inside at every end of every long day, and she’ll get used to it before too long. She’s always been a quick learner.  
  
          “Is my pussy good, Daddy?” she asks you after stifling a pained grunt, still holding her eyes shut. She’s already learning her place. It won’t be long before she gets just as much pleasure out of this as you do.  
  
          _“Very_ good, sweetie,” you groan. You crash your hips harder and harder into her, spearing your cock through her hot, gripping cunt, slapping your balls into her ass. You give her jiggling tits a few more rough slaps before pressing your weight down on her, squishing her breasts beneath you. “Tell me who your pussy belongs to, sweetie,” you whisper to her as you kiss her, exhaling your hot breath over her face.  
  
          “You, Daddy,” she tells you obediently.  
  
          “And what is it for, sweetie?”  
  
          She doesn’t miss a beat. “For your cock, Daddy,” she cries out. “For squeezing your cock and making it feel good.”  
  
          “Your womb, sweetie. Tell me.”  
  
          “My womb is yours, Daddy. It’s for you to squirt your seed into and fill up with your cum.”  
  
          Your lips curl into another grin. She’s such a better lay than her mother.  
  
          You break your kiss and rise to your knees, and your manhood becomes a blur of motion as it plunders your girl’s cunt. You groan louder and louder, swelling with pleasure, and you grab Kylie’s shoulders as you near your finish. “I’m almost there, sweetie,” you grunt. “Clench down on me, sweetie. Squeeze your pussy on Daddy’s cock. Make it tight.”  
  
          Though you never doubted she would, Kylie knows exactly how to do as you ask. She clenches her pussy down on your throbbing prick, and that extra bit of _oomph_ is all you need to take flight. Your pleasure bursts into bliss, and your cock jumps and twitches inside your girl’s heat and wetness. The slit of your cockhead dilates as it spews out thick ropes of potent seed into your daughter, and they each flow through her cervix before finally settling in her fertile breeding ground. The first half-dozen spurts alone are enough to have her womb sloshing white with your spermy cum, and the spurts after those leave no doubt your seed will take root. You bellow out a hearty, animalistic roar as you empty the last of your load into Kylie, letting everyone in your camp know that you’re deflowering, defiling, and inseminating your firstborn child – and that you’re rather enjoying it, too.  
  
          Only when the very last of your pleasure fades and your prick has half-softened do you finally pull yourself from your daughter’s freshly-deflowered cunt. The slit of Kylie’s sex, once pink and pristine, is now red and raw, bruised by your loving. It looks like it hurts. You probably could’ve gone a bit easier on your girl, but then it wouldn’t have felt as good for you, would it? And Kylie _is_ your fuck-toy, after all. This is her duty to you. Her first night of many. The sooner she gets used to being your teen slut, the better off she’ll be. Besides, it won’t hurt as much next time.  
  
          A thick glob of your white seed bubbles up from her red slit, and you quickly put the flat palm of your hand to her cunt, plugging the leak. “Raise your legs above your head, sweetie,” you tell her hurriedly. “Keep them there. Let my cum sit in your womb. We want my seed to find your egg, don’t we?”  
  
          Kylie gives you a cute little nod. “Yes, Daddy,” she says sweetly. She raises her legs high and locks her hands under her knees to hold them there. The frothy river of your seed flows back down her cunt and pools with the rest of it inside her womb.  
  
          You scoot over by Kylie’s head and dangle your half-erect cock beside her lips. “Now suck me clean, sweetie,” you order her.  
  
          Your cock is slick with your seed and smells strongly of the musks of both man and woman, but Kylie is far past the point of denying you. She obediently puckers her lips and pushes them down your cock, nursing on your length as she sucks you off noisily. She thrusts her plumped lips down your crown and takes you to the back of her throat as she suckles you and licks your cock clean of your cum. She winces at the strong, salty taste of your seed, but she manages not to retch or gag, and her surprising skill pulls a sudden, breathy groan from your lungs as your cock begins to harden once more. It doesn’t take you long to decide that you want her to do more than clean you.  
  
          You put your hands to the back of her head and start bobbing her down aggressively onto your cock. “Hollow your cheeks, sweetie,” you instruct her. “Suck tight, and keep licking the head.”  
  
          Kylie does just as you bid, and in moments you’ve got your daughter sucking you just how you want her to. Your cock is rock-hard again, but it won’t be for long, as only moments pass before Kylie’s puckered lips and flicking tongue have you cumming again. You’re silent this time as your second orgasm hits you, and you give your girl no warning. Your load spurts out sudden and thick onto Kylie’s tongue and she jerks in surprise, but you keep her head pressed down onto your length, preventing her from pulling off. Your twitching pecker layers her tongue with more seed and even spurts as far to paint the back of her throat with white, but you still don’t hear her gulp to take it down.  
  
          “You have to swallow it, Kylie,” you urge her matter-of-factly. You won’t be taking your cock from her mouth until she does.  
  
          At last you hear her gulp as she takes your thick, salty cum down her throat. Her face twists in blatant disgust, but she dutifully swallows the whole lot of your load, down to the very last drop.  
  
          You slip your cock from your daughter’s lips with a pop and put your hands to her legs, urging them down, letting her lay flat. Your seed flows in a thick, white stream from Kylie’s pussy, but you’re far too tired to bother with it. You’ll clean it later. You lay beside your girl – mindful of the sharp talons on her feet – and you pull the furs up over the both of you, putting your arms firm around her as you pull her against you, sharing in the heat of your bodies. Kylie sighs as she rests her head on your chest. You peer down at her, but the sun is gone now and it’s too dark to see her face. You don’t know if her expression is pained or peaceful, but—  
  
          —“I love you, Daddy,” Kylie whispers, taking you by surprise and breaking the silence.  
  
          You smile and sigh gently. “And I love you, sweetie,” you whisper back as you close your eyes.  
  
          ...  
  
          It’s been a long, frustrating day, and it’s already dusk by the time you return home. It’s quiet in the center of your camp, the softly crackling campfire being the only sound to be heard. Your young ones, Nati, Ave, Laya, and Kian must have already been put to bed. Just as you begin to wonder where she is, a few flaps of her wings are the only heads-up you’re given before Kylie descends from the sky and thumps onto the ground beside you, planting her sharp talons into the earth.  
  
          “Hi, Daddy,” she greets you softly and sweetly. “I’m glad you’re home.” When you turn your head and look to her, she beams you a bright, sunny smile, her gray eyes glowing, her full lips curled up, her white teeth shining. Her waist-length, white-blonde hair is smoother than you’ve ever seen it – she must’ve spent the better part of the day brushing it – and she twirls a lock of it with her forefinger as she smiles at you, happy as can be. She’s always ecstatic when you come home, and that hasn’t changed now that you’ve taken her virginity. Your sweet girl still loves you as much as life itself, and becoming just as much your teenaged wife as she is your teenaged daughter hasn’t changed that. You can’t imagine anything ever will.  
  
          But even as Kylie shines you a joyful smile, you don’t smile back. Your mood is too sour for that. Instead, you wordlessly reach between her legs and cup the crotch of her breeches in your hand. It’s hot . . . and a bit damp. Good. She’s ready for you. Kylie flinches when your hand touches her crotch, but she doesn’t backpedal or move to flee your touch. Her smile vanishes, chased away by a near-pouting expression of sweet, doe-eyed innocence. _Gods_ does that look get you riled up. It starts a blazing fire in your loins – a fire that burns just as hot as the one five feet away from you – and entices you to pin Kylie beneath you, pry open her legs, and pummel her pussy until it’s sore. At this point, Kylie probably knows it does.  
  
          You take Kylie’s hand in yours and storm towards your tent with her in tow. When you’re inside, you send Kylie to your cot with a light, guiding shove to her back and a sharp _cracking_ spank to her ass, hard enough to make her tight cheeks jiggle through her breeches. It might have hurt worse than you intended, and it might leave a mark on her cute bum, but that’s alright. It’ll remind her who she belongs to. Not that Kylie needs that reminder. She’s a daddy’s girl, she knows it, and she’s proud of it.  
  
          Kylie backpedals and eases herself down into your cot, lying on her back across it as she tucks her wings beneath her. Strange how feathered wings that large can fold so easily and so neatly, but it’s probably a long-developed trait. Harpies spend a great deal of time flat on their backs, after all. You wouldn’t doubt it if Kylie’s slut of a mother has spent more of her waking hours on her back than she has on her feet.  
  
          You slip out of your clothes one piece at a time as you stride over to your cot. Kylie plucks off her brassiere and tosses it away, her hands soon finding and cupping her perky breasts and teasing her pink teats, but she stops at that, knowingly leaving _you_ the honor of tearing away her breeches.  
  
          “Got that pussy wet for me?” you ask as you reach for her, though you already know the answer. You grab the waistband of her breeches and roughly yank them down, pulling them down her long legs and off her talon-clad feet.  
  
          “Mhm,” she meekly hums in response. Once you’ve got her breeches off her, her legs open and spread wide for you, and you promptly stand between them.  
  
          “Good.”  
  
          “Come here, sweetie,” you grunt as you grab Kylie’s legs. “Give me that pussy.” You yank her towards you, pulling her open crotch closer to the edge of your cot and bringing her plump, gold-feathered pussy mound to your long, turgid prick. You raise her legs and place her ankles over your shoulders, and Kylie reaches her hand down and spreads her cunny-feathers for you, obediently offering you her pink, youthful slit. You prod your swollen cockhead against her pussy, and Kylie gasps when she feels it. Using only your hips, you rub your crown up and down her wet gash, moistening yourself with your daughter’s abundant natural lubricant. Her vagina itself is just a tiny, nearly-undetectable hole on the bottom of the pink slit of her vulva, and just from looking at it, it’s obvious how tight a fit it is. It’s hard to believe you can even squeeze your cock inside that tiny thing, but you’ve made _damn_ sure you can, haven’t you? Kylie does a great job of getting wet for you – or is it you that does a good job of getting _her_ wet? – and she’s only getting wetter the more you tease your crown against her, working her until she’s absolutely bubbling with her frothy lust and your cockhead is wet with a sheen of it.  
  
          Kylie breathes a girlish, wanton whine as you tease her young cunny with your cock, and that prompts you to turn your gaze upwards and meet her eyes. “What you want me to do, sweetie?” you ask flatly.  
  
          That’s the best part of this. You could fuck Kylie silly and make her teen twat ache on your own whims if you so desired, but knowing your beloved girl wants it as bad as you, that just makes it all the better.  
  
          “I want you to fuck my sweet little pussy.”  
  
          “Atta girl,” you coo as you lovingly squeeze her thighs at your hips.  
  
          _‘Sweet little pussy,’_ that’s new. It’s somewhat clumsy, but hey, this is only the third day since you deflowered her, and this’ll only be the seventh time you’ve fucked her; three times in the morning, and this’ll be the fourth time at night. She’ll get better at the dirty talk before long. Kylie’s observant. Soon enough she’ll know _exactly_ what to say to get you rock-hard. She’s already better at it than her mother.  
  
          There’s no need for foreplay, no wooing ritual you have to waste your time with. Kylie’s your fucktoy slut, and she and her pussy are always yours for the taking. You ease your hips forward. Kylie’s pink, sticky slit holds you off for only a short moment before yielding, allowing your cockhead to burrow inside and disappear within her as it invades her teen pussy’s tunnel. Right away, despite how soaking wet and snugly tight she is, it’s the heat of Kylie that strikes you. She’s so _hot_ inside, just _wonderfully_ warm. Her pussy is a pure _pleasure_ to sheath your pecker inside; the perfect little hole to snuggle you and bask your length in warmth, the perfect place for your cock to call home. You and Kylie sigh together as your cock eases into her, her squeezing, near-virginal walls gripping against every last inch as they push through. Your swollen, flared cockhead is what’s gripped tightest inside her, and the sensation is strong enough to make your loins tingle. A bead of pre-seed worms its way up your cock and out of your slit before oozing inside Kylie and swimming away in her sea of moisture.  
  
          Eager to get truly started, you squeeze Kylie’s thighs in your hands as you quickly start hammering away, pushing in and out, withdrawing your entire cock on the back-end of every thrust – to the point that the tip of your crown is all that still tickles her slit – before plunging it all back in. Kylie’s soaked pussy makes quiet, wet-sounding _squelches_ as you pound it, and Kylie pouts her lips and gives whimpers and whines as she just lies there and accepts your assault on her cunny, happily letting her father have his way with her body and violate the most sacred of her young flesh.  
  
          _Damn_ . . . there’s just nothing better than coming home and getting inside your girl’s hot pussy. All the hardships of the day are already out of your mind, chased away by joy, bliss, and pleasure. Kylie’s little hole is so easy to just empty your frustrations into, just as sure as you’ll soon empty your balls in it. There’s just no doubting it anymore. Kylie – your own firstborn daughter – gives you the best sex you’ve ever had. That realization flushes you with a strange sense of _wrong_ ness, and you briefly knit your brow to try and reason out why that could possibly _be,_ but you think of nothing, and that feeling of wrongness is washed away by much stronger feelings of love and adoration for your sweet, sweet daughter. How could this be wrong? The sensations of plowing Kylie’s teenaged cunt are just _divine,_ and the love you feel for her – the love you’ve _always_ felt for her, as well as the love she’s always felt for you – is stronger than anything in this world. This isn’t wrong. This is _right._ Oh, oh so right.  
  
          “Does it feel good inside my pussy, Daddy?” Kylie asks, reading the pleasure on your groaning face.  
  
          “It feels amazing, sweetie,” you answer.  
  
          “I’m glad,” she says, smiling. Sweet girl. “I thought about you all day, Daddy,” she adds as you continue pounding her, and she lets her tit-teasing hands fall to each side of her on your cot.  
  
          “Is that so?” you grunt, hammering your hips into her thighs. “Did you touch yourself when you did?”  
  
          “Yes . . . but I only rubbed it. I didn’t put my finger inside it.”  
  
          Your brow furrows. “Why not?” you ask.  
  
          “My pussy isn’t for my finger. It’s only for your cock, Daddy.”  
  
          You can’t help but chuckle. “Good girl,” you coo to her.  
  
          That wasn’t a teaching of yours. You’d never even thought of that, but that’s smart. It might not make much of a physical difference to keep the finger away, but it does make an _emotional_ one. It’s a reminder of her submission, of who she serves. And Kylie thought of it all on her own. Kylie’s been your slut for less than a week, but she’s already thinking of new methods of dominance – or, for her, new methods of submission – that you hadn’t. _Gods,_ you’re so proud of Kylie, just for everything, always. She’s the perfect daughter. You’re not sure if you deserve her, but you have her, and you won’t take her for granted. She’s sweet, she’s demure, she’s good-mannered, she’s respectful, and better yet . . . she worships you. She’s tall, she’s gorgeous, she’s youthful, she’s sexy, and best of all . . . she’s a great fuck.  
  
          “You love being Daddy’s teen slut, don’t you, sweetie?” you ask her as you start slamming into her with much harder thrusts, emboldened by a new flush of fatherly pride. You clap your hips into Kylie’s open crotch hard enough to make her lose her breath, and to make her delightfully perky C-cups bounce and jiggle on her chest.  
  
          “Yes,” she moans.  
  
          “Say it, Kylie. Say what you love.”  
  
          “I love – _unh_ – being your – _ah_ – teen slut, Daddy.”  
  
          “Your pussy just doesn’t feel right without me inside it, does it?”  
  
          “No, Daddy.”  
  
          Eager to give her father more pleasure – and not needing your command to do so – Kylie starts working her pelvic muscles around you, tightening her pussy around your member, clenching herself on your cock. You were already getting close to your finish, and the added pleasure is too much to bear. Your cock swells inside Kylie as your orgasm nears, and that only serves to double the friction and hasten your coming climax. You clutch Kylie’s legs tighter against you, savoring their feathery softness and their warmth as your thrusting and breath quickens. “Where should I cum, sweetie?” you ask her, near-breathlessly, as you meet her eyes.  
  
          “Inside me,” she says. “Cum inside my pussy, Daddy.”  
  
          “Good girl,” you coo to her again. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”  
  
          With one final, hilting thrust, you bottom out into Kylie with a groan, and heat and pleasure crashes over you. Your balls rhythmically tighten as your manhood twitches inside her and spurts out your load; rope after rope of thick, white seed that runs like a river through her cunt and swims through her cervix. Kylie’s fingers coil as she grabs two fistfuls of the bedsheet wrapped around your cot, and she clenches her pussy as tight as she can while you cum inside her, making your breath-stealing, shoulder-shaking orgasm even stronger. Your cock twitches and shudders again and again, spewing yet more spunk inside its mate, until Kylie’s fertile womb is drowned by your no-less-fertile seed and her innermost walls are washed with white.  
  
          When the last of your orgasm fades, your knees begin to wobble, your legs numbed and weakened by the pleasure. You slowly draw your hips back, pulling your cock out of Kylie’s cunt one gradual inch at a time, and you can’t help but sigh a quick breath when your cockhead pops out of her slit. A thick, clumpy glob of your white seed soon drools out of her tunnel – which still holds un-gaped, despite the beating you just gave it – but you dumped more than enough inside her to know that plenty still sits in her womb, and the sight of it leaving her doesn’t disturb you. You release Kylie’s legs and lower them from your shoulders, and she quickly shifts sideways and lies proper in your cot as she makes room for you to join her, and that you do. You lie beside her and put your arm around her as you nuzzle your head against hers, and it’s in perfect timing, as the last of the sun’s light has finally drawn back from your tent, leaving you and your freshly-fucked girl in the darkness of the night.  
  
          This time it’s Kylie who grabs the furs and pulls them up onto the both of you, and she makes sure you’re just as covered as she is before snuggling against you and sighing happily. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispers, and her tone is markedly different from the first time she said it after you’d bedded her. It’s more . . . _relaxed._ Less timid . . . and more tranquil.  
  
          You smile when you hear her, your lips curling far higher than they did that first, fateful night. “I love you more,” you whisper back.


	2. The Sheep and their Shepherd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father adds to his flock and lays the first groundwork of a Mareth under his rule.

          Owca hasn’t changed one bit since you last visited. It’s a sleepy little hamlet of just a dozen or so thatched cottages, a herding pen for livestock, and a single tavern, all lining a series of a few roads which are nothing more than simple dirt tracks. The villagers are pale-skinned sheep-morphs, mostly human in appearance, but with two short, nubby horns on their foreheads and a strange fuzziness and wooliness to their curly, white hair. They each give you friendly greetings as they pass you by, still grateful to you for breaking the back of the demon horde that had troubled them for so long. Though the Owcans don’t know it, after defeating that band of demons, you took their queen, Vapula, as one of your wives. As belligerent as you knew Vapula would be – and as belligerent as she still remains – having a winged cum-vampire for a wife has its charms.  
  
          Judging by the villagers’ unassuming smiles as they wave to you, they don’t seem to sense how much you’ve changed since you last visited. They don’t yet realize that you aren’t quite the man you were before. But they will.  
  
          You’ve come to Owca supposedly for the usual reason: to _‘enjoy’_ a chaste, infuriatingly-innocent bath with the young sheep-woman Rebecc, to submerge yourself in the Owcans’ unique, strangely-purifying milk, to soothe your aches, ease your worries, and wash away some of the stubborn corruption afflicting you from your time in this world. And that reason _used_ to be true, but not anymore. Now it’s simply a pretense. Now you come to Owca as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The shepherd has come to add to his flock.  
  
          The door to Rebecc’s cottage is open, but you quietly close and lock it behind you. A short walk down a hall later, you find Rebecc in her kitchen, sitting in a chair and scrubbing sudsy plates over a tin bucket. She doesn’t notice you, and you take a moment to just enjoy the sight of her. She’s a woman grown, but she’s among the younger ones in the village; not much older in appearance than your teenaged eldest daughter. Rebecc is one of the paler girls here too; the unblemished skin of her face looks almost porcelain. Rebecc has always struck you as the prettiest sheep-girl in Owca. Her face is rounded and shapely, her nose is thin-bridged, and her lips are thin and girlish. Her bright, blue eyes are eager and expressive, and they gleam with joy more often than not. She stands a bit short, at about five-seven, but the shortness of her stature only exaggerates her already-deadly curves. Her heavy, ample breasts are only barely concealed by the low cut of her not-quite-modest peasant dress. Her wide hips have an arousing sway when she moves, and her fat ass is among the biggest in Owca. You would know. You’ve certainly ogled them all from afar often enough.  
  
          You clear your throat to draw Rebecc’s attention, and she cocks her head up at the sound of it. A bright smile shines from her lips and eyes when she spots you, and she quickly darts up onto her feet and hurries over to you. She wraps her arms around you and squeals a cute _mmm!_ as she hugs you tight. You hug her back and rest your nose into the thick, woolly curls of white hair that cascade down her shoulders. She smells of a pleasant mixture of fresh fruit and dish-soap. Rebecc squeezes you a bit tighter when she feels you hug her back, and that draws a chuckle from your closed lips. She’s such a sweet girl. She’ll be so wonderful for you. Eventually.  
  
          “How have you been, darling?” she asks. “It’s been so long, I was afraid something had happened.”  
  
          “A lot happened,” you tell her gravely, and it’ll probably be the only truthful thing you say to her.  
  
          Rebecc rears back and locks her eyes with yours. “Is everything alright?”  
  
          “I’m . . . troubled,” you mutter, and you let the following silence breed her concern for you. You feign an expression of distress and swallow a convincingly nervous gulp as you look away.  
  
          “Tell me, darling,” Rebecc pleads with you. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
          “The corruption,” you answer as you look back to her. “It’s in me again,” you mutter with a weak nod. “And it’s . . . so . . . _strong_. I feel these . . . _urges_. Urges I’ve never had before. I’ve . . . I’ve done bad things. But I don’t want to do them anymore. Please, I . . . I need you, Rebecc. Will you help me?”  
  
          “Yes, darling,” she assures you as she cups your cheeks lovingly. “I’m here for you. Of course I’ll help you.”  
  
          You give her a relieved smile. “Thank you,” you whisper.  
  
          “Stay here. I’ll get the milk for the bath,” she says as she turns away.  
  
          Right then, you wrap your arm around her neck and lock your elbow under her chin, pressing tight into her throat, not _too_ hard, as you don’t want to hurt her, but just hard enough to skillfully choke the flow of blood to her head. She thrashes about wildly and claws at you, but your chokehold is practiced and effective, and she’s lights-out in seconds. She slumps in your arms, calmly _“asleep.”_  
  
          This isn’t always pleasant business . . . but eventually, Rebecc will be glad you’ve done this.  
  
          You gently raise Rebecc and heave her onto your shoulder. You turn towards the cottage’s back door, but you pause before going to it. You turn your head to the unconscious girl on your shoulder and hike up the skirt of her dress, revealing the white panties partly wedged into the crack of her big, pale bum. With some maneuvering, you manage to crane your neck enough to press your nose into her cunt through her panties. You take a deep whiff and fill your lungs with her musky scent. You smirk. That’s the smell of a woman alright.  
  
          You affectionately pat Rebecc’s bum as you go to the door and leave the kitchen. You’re outside in perfect timing. Two winged figures descend like lightning from the sky, in gold and purple blurs of motion.  
  
          The first to land, Kylie, plants her feet directly by your side. Her lips curl into a smile when her gray eyes meet yours. She’s holding a gentle hand under the pregnant swell of her bare belly, careful not to disturb the rapidly-growing egg resting in her womb. The egg _you_ put in her. Her perky breasts have swollen from hormones, pushing out her brassiere a bit more than usual. If Kylie doesn’t have D’s now, then she’s awfully close. Still not as large as her mother’s massive bust, but that’s not a criticism. By the looks of it, Kylie is already halfway through her pregnancy.  
  
          The second to land, Vapula – the aforementioned ex-demon-queen and now begrudgingly-servile wife – lands a fair few yards away from you. She drives at you a bored glare of violet eyes as she meets your gaze. Her form is largely human, save for the two white-feathered, eagle-like wings that sprout from her back and the two short, pointed horns that sprout from her forehead, just beneath her hairline. Her face is elegantly feminine, with unblemished and purple-hued skin, her hair is long and as black as the night, and her body is strikingly curvaceous. Like everyone in your family, Vapula garbs herself in patchwork clothes, an unfortunate result of Tel’Adre – the only true city in the land – banning you and all your family from entering it. None of your wives have proven to be a decent seamstress.  
  
          Vapula walks to you in a slow saunter, her wide hips swaying, her two arms clutched under her heavy breasts. Her wings twitch idly from emotions not well hidden; the scowl on her face only lightens when a devilish smirk crooks around her lips and a lust for revenge ignites in her violet eyes. “This is the girl that kept sending you at me?” she asks as she flicks a black lock of her hair behind her ear.  
  
          “You will _not_ hurt her,” you growl. You turn your head to Kylie. “Sweetie, if Vapula does anything to this girl, tell me, alright?”  
  
          Kylie gives you a salute-like nod. Vapula rolls her eyes.  
  
          “Why didn’t you have Sophie help with this instead of me?” Vapula gripes, shrugging and giving a quick sigh. “It could’ve been good mother-daughter kidnapping-bonding time or some shit.”  
  
          “Sophie can hardly fly,” you answer. “Too plump for her own wings,” you muse. “That, and she can’t follow the simplest instruction that isn’t _‘spread your legs.’”_  
  
          Kylie doesn’t bat an eye at your badmouthing of her mother. She’s heard a lot worse.  
  
          “ _And_ ,” you add as you glare at Vapula. “I wanted to show you that I’m only on one person’s side: _mine._ Not yours, not Rebecc’s, not Owca’s. _Mine._ And I _always_ win.” You turn your head to Kylie again. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”  
  
          Kylie’s smiling and dreamily petting her belly when you look to her. “Mhm,” she answers, nodding happily.  
  
          You raise your hand and briefly cup Kylie’s soft cheek. Her smile widens.  
  
          Vapula rolls her eyes again, but you know she believes your words. She tries to hide it, but she has a deep respect for you, a respect for how you dominate everything and everyone that opposes you . . . including her.  
  
          You gently lower Rebecc from your shoulder and hand her to your two wives, who hold her from opposite ends. “Put her in the cave,” you command them. “Make sure the chains are tight. I don’t care if it hurts.”  
  
          “When will you be home, Daddy?” Kylie asks.  
  
          “About an hour, sweetie.”  
  
          With that, you send them on their way with a quick goodbye kiss to Kylie’s lips and a sharp goodbye spank to each of their asses. They take flight with a joined sweep from their wings, and you watch them as they take a minute to coordinate their efforts before they fly off, into the horizon.  
  
          With Rebecc safely on route to her new home, you stride with a pleased smirk as you make your way past Rebecc’s cottage to the center of Owca, where you climb the steps to the village’s gallows. There’s no noose hanging from the post, and there hasn’t been an execution here in decades.  
  
          You liberated the Owcans from the demons that once held them at their mercy. You have more right than anyone to do what you’re about to do.  
  
          “People of Owca,” you shout, effortlessly using your magic to make your voice unnaturally loud and booming. “Gather here. I have something to announce to you.”  
  
          Sure enough, the sheep-people villagers start funneling out of their homes and out of the tavern, gathering into a crowd in front of the gallows. When you’re confident that nearly every last villager is here, men and women both, adults and children all. You give each of them a moment looking into your eyes. You can see that some of the villagers sense your intentions are sour, but most look to you with a mix of curiosity and confusion.  
  
          “You might doubt this by the time I’ve finished speaking,” you begin, bellowing at them. “But we want the same thing, you all and I. We want our families to be safe. We want to protect them from the demons that infest this world. I’m a father now, and just like those of you here that are parents, I’ll do _anything_ and _everything_ to protect my children. And that’s exactly what I intend to do here today.”  
  
          The crowd remains silent. Even the youngest do not dare to speak. You’ve captured their full attention. That’s good. But that silence won’t last.  
  
          “And that brings me to why I’ve called you all here. I’ve decided to offer you all the honor and distinction of being the first community in Mareth to bend the knee and swear fealty to me.”  
  
          Murmurs and whispers break out amongst the crowd, but you don’t give them much chance to consider your words.  
  
          “Should you accept this offer, you will obey me at all times. You will consider my word to be law. And you will have men ready to take up arms for me and cull demons from this land when I call on them. If you kneel but then break from any of these vows, there will be punishment.”  
  
          “Is this a joke?” one of the villagers speaks up from amongst the crowd. You can’t see exactly who spoke, and so you can’t put a face to the voice. Not that it matters.  
  
          You sweep your eyes icily over the villagers, glaring daggers at each of them. “Do I look like I’m joking?” you shout coldly.  
  
          “He’s corrupted,” a middle-aged sheep-man at the front of the crowd says somberly.  
  
          “I am,” you concede.  
  
          “We’ve resisted your kind before,” another man tells you.  
  
          You shake your head slowly. “I am of no _‘kind.’_ I am no demon. I am only me.” You sweep your eyes over them again. “You all know that I am a man with a great power. What I am offering you now is _safety._ I am offering you the privilege of having those that would otherwise raid and rape you think twice before doing so. And I am offering you the hope that the demons who scourge this land may someday be purged.”  
  
          “And if we don’t trust you?” a weary-looking sheep-woman with tired eyes asks you. “If we decline?”  
  
          “When I ask for something, the person asked has two choices. They will do as I say willingly . . . or they will do it _un_ willingly. There is no other option. If you decline my offer, I am prepared to _force_ you to accept. I am prepared to do something I do not want to do. And the time has now come for you all to decide. Kneel and accept, or stand and refuse.”  
  
          The Owcans look to each other, and there are some whispers, but none move from where they stand. None kneel. Their eyes return to you.  
  
          Without uttering a word, you raise your hand and snap your fingers. The sharp snap echoes through the town, and at the sound of it, Rebecc’s cottage bursts into a bright, burning blaze of white, roaring flames.  
  
          “For every minute that passes where you do not all kneel,” you shout over the fearful screams that break out amongst the crowd. “I will raze another home until this village is burned to ash.”  
  
          “Where is Rebecc?” one of the sheep-women frantically asks another. When they look to the burning ball of whitefire that was Rebecc’s cottage, they believe their question to be answered. _“Oh, Gods,”_ the same woman mutters.  
  
          The looks of cautiousness and uncertainty in the Owcans’ eyes have twisted into looks of fear and horror. You hear a few children crying, and that plucks feelings of guilt from your heart. You’ve always hated that sound. It’s the worst part of fatherhood, hearing children cry. But they won’t cry for long. They’ll be better off after today.  
  
          “The clock is ticking!” you remind them. _“Kneel!”_ you roar.  
  
          One by one they fall to their knees, bowing their heads low to the ground.  
  
          “Good,” you bellow with an approving nod. “Remember my words. You’ll be thankful for this. You’ll be thankful for _me._ And there’s one more thing. Though you will now know me as ‘the Father,’ you will not refer to me as such. I have too much respect for the fathers here for me to share that title with their children. Instead, all of you will now refer to me as ‘my Lord.’ Now, when I count to three, as you continue to kneel, I want all of you to say those two words. Ready? One . . . two . . . three.”  
  
          “My Lord,” they say in unison. Their numerous voices reverberate together, sounding almost like that of a congregation in a church. The fire burning Rebecc’s old home still crackles away.  
  
          “Well done.”  
  
          You step down from the gallows. The villagers stay perfectly still as you stride past them.  
  
          Your pleased smile returns to you as you walk home through the plains. The plan couldn’t have gone better. You didn’t take a single life – which you never intended to do – and yet the Owcans now fear you as though you’d end any of them on the quickest whim. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t spill a drop of blood, and you stayed true to that promise. And you’ve also convinced them Rebecc is dead. The Owcans have no reason to attempt a _‘rescue’_ now. As far as they know, there’s no one to bring home. Incredible. You cowed the sheep without culling them.  
  
          The long walk home is an uneventful one. Once you’ve neared your campsite beside the large, lifeless portal – the portal you came to this world from – you forego your camp itself and instead make your way to one of the caves in a rock formation just a short walk away. The cave’s opening is tucked behind a rock pillar and easily missable, making this a reasonably safe place to keep your newest bride-to-be. A dim light greets you as you enter, emanating from a single lantern resting on the cave floor. Rebecc lies flat on her back on a ragged bedroll beside the nearby rock wall. Her chest gently rises and falls with her breath, but her eyes are still shut, still soundly asleep. Her hands and feet are both cuffed in shackles. Those around her ankles are linked to a thick steel chain that’s wrapped around a large, heavy rock, and those around her wrists are linked to a chain that leads to a square of steel you spent the better part of a day drilling into the cave wall.  
  
          Yes, everything is set up perfectly, but . . . where’s your trunk? It should be here.  
  
          You turn on your heel to your right, towards the shadowed part of the small cavern, and you find it then. The heavy, rectangular trunk filled with everything you’ll be needing is there, up against the wall. And to your surprise, Kylie sits atop it. The flickering flame from the lantern has shadows dancing across her face, and her eyes are hidden in the darkness.  
  
          “What are you still doing here, sweetie?” you ask.  
  
          Kylie holds her belly’s swell and eases herself onto her feet. When her face surges forward from the shadows, you find her full lips smiling and her bright, gray eyes glimmering with awe and wonder. She presses her body into yours. “I want to watch, Daddy,” she whispers.  
  
          You stare into her eyes with all the intensity you can muster, a taste of what she’ll see should she stay. Kylie doesn’t waver. Her pupils flit back and forth between yours, mesmerized by you. Without a word, you shoot your hand down her breeches and squeeze a cheek of her tight ass, and though Kylie takes in a short gasp, she doesn’t flinch, and she still never takes her eyes from yours. Determined. You slip your forefinger through her soft cunt-feathers and discover that the slit of her pussy is sticky and hot, burning with lust and arousal. Her wings twitch at your touching of her twat. You pull back your moistened finger and press it into Kylie’s lips. She gladly takes it into her mouth and shuts her eyes as she licks your finger clean, savoring the flavor of her own femininity. She likes her taste.  
  
          After she’s licked your finger clean and left it wet only with her saliva, you pull it back. “Okay, sweetie,” you tell her with a smile as she opens her eyes. “You can watch.”  
  
          You leave Kylie’s side and flip up the lid of your trunk. There’s only two things you’ll be needing: a thin packet of smelling salts and a corked bottle golden liquor with a very large _“WARNING”_ sticker. Once you have them in your hands, you flip the trunk shut and turn your attention to Rebecc. As soon as you leave your trunk, Kylie takes her seat again atop it.  
  
          “Daddy?” Kylie chirps up when you turn away from her.  
  
          You peer at her over your shoulder. “Yes, sweetie?”  
  
          “Can I touch myself?”  
  
          Cute.  
  
          “Of course, sweetie,” you answer, smirking.  
  
          Kylie tugs her breeches down to her ankles and kicks them away before eagerly slipping her right hand under her belly. She opens her legs, and her cunt-feathers part with them. She brings her forefinger and middle finger together to make a single soft prong and promptly rubs it deep into the spongy mound of her soaked pussy, stimulating her clitoral hood and the outer lips of her wet slit.  
  
          Though she hasn’t lost her characteristic demureness, your sweet girl sure has turned into a lustful young thing.  
  
          As you watch her, you decide that your precious daughter is well-deserving of receiving a brief treat.  
  
          Moving quickly and wordlessly, you spin to face Kylie again and start towards her. Her masturbating fingers fall still in confusion, but when you lower yourself to your knees and set the items down beside the trunk, those fingers quickly retreat. You spread her legs wider, and Kylie watches with bated breath as you lower your head to her crotch. The heady, womanly scent of her ripe, inflamed cunt tickles your nose, prompting a rush of saliva to fill your mouth. Without sparing Kylie a single glance, you give Kylie’s pink slit an open-mouthed kiss, pressing your lips onto her cleft and running your tongue deep through her hot flesh, which you then repeat again and again. Your girl breathes continuous, high-pitched whimpers through her closed lips, overcome with the pleasure of her father eating her young pussy. Occasionally, you stop with your kisses and licks to instead suck on her clitoral hood or one of her lips, leisurely sampling Kylie’s soaked cunt however you please.  
  
          Her pussy quickly soaks your tongue. Her taste is thick in your mouth. Almost salty, almost sour, almost metallic, but not quite any of the three. There’s no good comparison that does it justice. It’s the taste of a woman . . . and it’s addicting.  
  
          Though your intent was simply to stop after just a minute or two, it’s only a moment later you’re capping off a long stroke of your tongue with an upwards flick over her clit when Kylie suddenly begins shuddering and moaning loudly as she blows her top. Her body rhythmically clenches as she gasps and exhales heavy, husky breaths.  
  
          Kylie sure did have herself worked up as she waited for you, didn’t she?  
  
          You smack your lips and tongue a few times after you stand to your feet, letting the taste of Kylie’s cunt pervade in your mouth.  
  
          “Thank you, Daddy,” Kylie whispers, her eyes closed, her chest slowly rising and falling.  
  
          “You’re welcome, baby,” you reply as you give her sensitive pussy a few under-handed pats, chuckling when she flinches uncontrollably at the incredibly intense touch.  
  
          You pick back up the items you’ll be needing. It’s time to get down to business.  
  
          You stride over to Rebecc and lower yourself onto one knee beside her. Behind you, Kylie is already gingerly diddling herself again, slowly working towards a second climax. That one she’ll have to manage on her own. You put the packet of smelling salts against Rebecc’s nose and snap it your hand to the tune of a shrill _crack!_ The next breath Rebecc draws takes the salts’ gas through her nose and into her lungs. She awakens in a start, her eyes jumping open as her frightened pupils dart fearfully over your face. You toss away the salts and quickly press your open hand over her mouth, silencing her before she can utter a word.  
  
          “Before you speak,” you begin calmly, “Do not call me by my old name. That’s not me. Not anymore. As far as you’re concerned, my name is ‘husband.’ You can still call me darling if you’d like, but you will never call me by my old name again. Do you understand?”  
  
          Her chest heaves with terrified breaths, but she makes no other reaction.  
  
          _“Do you understand?”_ you suddenly growl at her, speaking much harsher and much louder.  
  
          She jams her eyes shut and nods furiously. Good enough. Satisfied, you take your hand from her mouth.  
  
          “Please,” Rebecc mutters as she opens her eyes again. “Let me go.”  
  
          “Why is that always the first thing they say?” you muse with a short, cruel laugh. “Do you really think I’d have brought you here just to let you go? Because you asked nicely? No, that’s not happening,” you tell her as you shake your head. “You’re here to stay.”  
  
          Rebecc scoots up off her back and onto her bottom. She looks up and down and all around, getting a good idea of just how trapped she truly is. She tugs her arms in an attempt to free herself, but it’s futile. The chains won’t come loose. She looks to her feet and whimpers when she discovers that they too are shackled.  
  
          “You would’ve ended up marrying some simple Owcan before long,” you muse to Rebecc as you look over her. “And that would’ve been a waste. You belong with _me._ And you want this, Rebecc, I know you do. Well, maybe not exactly like _this,_ ” you quip as you nod to her chains. “But . . . all those baths together, all those times you touched me and teased me and whispered sweet nothings into my ear . . . you’ve fantasized of being my wife. I know you have. I can read people, Rebecc. I can look inside them. It’s easier to do through touch . . . and you’ve touched me plenty, haven’t you? I’ve seen your fantasies, Rebecc. Now I’m making them a reality. That’s what I do. I _act,_ I _take charge,”_ you tell her with an emphatic clenching of your fist. “I’m bringing our dreams to life.”  
  
          “Please,” she says again as fear and helplessness colors her shaking voice. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
          Didn’t you just answer that?  
  
          “Rebecc, I could’ve just had children with one woman and let that be the end of it. But the problem there is that the _size_ of my family isn’t all I care about. I want _variety._ I want a family like _no other._ I want children of every kind, cut from every cloth.”  
  
          You get the sense Rebecc isn’t paying much attention to your words. Her eyes are stuck on something behind you.  
  
          Confused, you turn your head to where Rebecc is looking. You chuckle when you see Kylie nervously looking back and forth from Rebecc to you. Kylie’s hand has fallen still atop her pussy, and her two fingers shine in the light with obscene wetness. Being the good girl she is that knows to stay quiet when her father is speaking, you’d nearly forgotten Kylie was here.  
  
          “It’s okay, sweetie,” you assure her calmly. “Go on. Don’t stop.”  
  
          At your words, Kylie’s wet fingers slowly resume their rubbing, creating an audible _shlicking._  
  
          “That’s Kylie,” you explain to Rebecc. “My baby girl. My oldest daughter . . . and my wife.” As you watch Kylie pleasure herself, you decide to stand to your feet and stride to her. When you’re standing over her, you close your hand over one of Kylie’s feathery tits and squeeze and fondle the soft flesh. Kylie’s lock with yours. Intoxicated by your touch and your affection, her jaw thoughtlessly drops to better allow her to puff hot, aroused breaths. Smirking, you lean down and put your open lips over hers, mauling her tongue with your own as you give her a quick but passionate kiss.  
  
          “She’s a sweet thing,” you say of Kylie as you pull away, as a single thread of saliva hangs briefly from your lips to hers until you pull far enough back to break it. “But don’t waste your breath,” you tell Rebecc as you return to her and crouch beside her again. Surprisingly, the sheep-girl doesn’t look too disturbed by the shameless display of passionate, incestuous love. The shock of being kidnapped is probably taking priority. “She won’t be helping you, so just pretend she’s not here.” Then a thought comes to you, and you wag your hand behind yourself, towards Kylie. “Actually, do you want to know something about Kylie? She’s never _once_ seen an imp. Never in her life. No imp, no demon, no nothing, not once. I keep her safe, Rebecc. I keep _all_ my family safe. You’ll be safe here too. You _and_ our baby.”  
  
          “Baby? . . .” Rebecc mumbles.  
  
          _“B-A-B-Y,”_ you mock her as you emphasize each letter with a not-so-gentle pat to her cheek. “Gods, have you been paying attention to _anything_ I’ve been saying? That’s why I took you. That’s why you’re here. You’re a part of this family now. I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it right now . . . but, listen, I don’t want you chained in this cave either. And the sooner you show me that I can trust you, the sooner you’ll get somewhere better to sleep.”  
  
          Rebecc whines and thrashes her arms about again, noisily rattling her chains.  
  
          You sigh. “Do you see this here?” you ask as you rotate the bottle of liquor in your hand. “It’s called ‘Bimbo Liqueur.’ I _could_ force you to drink this. Wouldn’t be too hard to just pour it down your throat. I’ve made a woman drink it before. Just ask Kylie’s mother. And Rebecc, drinking this would change you. _Forever_. And not necessarily for the better. You’d only care about one thing for the rest of your days. You’d base your life around it . . . around getting it from _me._ You’d _live and breathe_ sex.”  
  
          Rebecc’s eyes widen at the sight of it. “Please don’t,” she begs you.  
  
          “Don’t worry,” you tell her. “The choice is yours to make. If you choose to behave, then I won’t make you drink it. But, if you choose to _mis_ behave, then . . .” you pause and give her a few _tsks_ _with your tongue_ as you shake the bottle _._ “Let’s just say you’d _never_ misbehave again.”  
  
          You let your words sink in for a moment before speaking again, allowing the only noise in the cavern to be Kylie’s lewd shlicking.  
  
          “So, have you made your choice?” you ask.  
  
          “Yes,” Rebecc whispers.  
  
          “What are you going to do?”  
  
          “Behave.”  
  
          You nod. “Good. And who am I?”  
  
          “Husband.”  
  
          You briefly return to Kylie and the trunk and set the Bimbo Liqueur down beside her. You give your fervently-masturbating daughter a knowing smile before turning to face your newest wife. “Well then,” you say as you raise your right hand. “It’s time to consummate.”  
  
          You snap your fingers.  
  
          An unseen force rips through the fabric of Rebecc’s peasant dress, rending it clean in two from her collar to the tip of her skirt. The sharp ripping echoes off the cavern’s walls. Rebecc winces in fear at the suddenness of it. You hurry over to her and descend on her like a starving wolf, pulling at her ruined dress with your hands. It’s just a couple tugs later that you’ve fully stripped her nude and bared her body to your eyes, and though you’ve seen her bare many times before in those damned baths in her tub, the sight of her now, helpless at your feet, thrills you in a way it never did before.  
  
          She’s just sublime. Her body is thin but heavy at the same time, in all the right ways. Though she has two bountiful, pink-nippled breasts that bounce and jiggle nicely when you slap them, you can also just faintly see the outline of the bottom of her ribcage, giving her a dual look of curves _and_ thinness. The slenderness of her waist gives her body a pronounced, womanly curve, from her heavy chest to her wide hips. Her flesh is pale and smooth, and though her body looks utterly hairless, when you look closer, you can see that she _does_ have small, fine hairs on her body, same as a human. It’s white like the hair of her head.  
  
          You give her hefty breasts a few more appreciative cups, squeezes, and slaps before moving down to the only part of her you’ve never gotten a good look at before. Rebecc doesn’t fight you as you put your hands to her thighs and forcefully part her legs. Her cunt is furred by an unruly, uncut bush of soft, snowy-white hair, and though you’ve managed brief glances at it before, you still frown when you see it. You have no problem with a fair amount of cunt hair, but that’s too much for your taste. Your mouth twitches as you lash out at her crotch with that same unseen force, and your sheep-bitch flinches when her bush is suddenly – but harmlessly and painlessly – sheared from her, leaving only a trimmed patch of white hair above her pussy. Much better.  
  
          With that done, your unobstructed eyes find that Rebecc’s cunt has butterfly-shaped, outwardsly-visible labia, not like the _“innies”_ of some of your other wives whose labial lips are thinner and tucked within them – Kylie, for example – but you’re a firm believer that all pussies are equally beautiful, and noticeable labia or not, Rebecc sends lust rushing to your head and blood to your cock all the same as any other.  
  
          You run your thumbs along the pink lips of Rebecc’s cunny, teasing her labia as you urge her pussy to moisten for you, which it quickly does. You don’t dare to slip those thumbs inside her. The first thing you put inside her will _not_ be a thumb or a finger. Rebecc lightly squirms as you diddle her, but you only hardly notice, and only hardly care. When you’re satisfied with her wetness, you use a thumb and forefinger to pull open the lips and folds of her cunt to get a better look at her tunnel, and . . . well, well, well, what is this now? Despite all those times Rebecc mercilessly teased you and lay nude in a tub with you, she’s a virgin. The tunnel of her cunt still sports that telltale membrane of flesh. Her last bastion of purity.  
  
          There’s something about that little piece of flesh that just crosses the wires in your mind in the best kind of way, and that reaction has only grown stronger as you’ve finally embraced the corruption that this world had long been threatening to taint you with. To see a girl’s innocence in their body and in their flesh, and then to _steal_ that innocence and forever _claim_ it as yours . . . there’s just nothing like it.  
  
          Rebecc closes her eyes and turns her head away. You take issue with that. You grab her face, squishing her cheeks, and forcefully redirect her towards you. “Open your eyes,” you command her. She hesitantly complies. “Don’t pretend you’re somewhere else,” you growl as you burn your intense gaze into hers. “You’re here. With me.”  
  
          She keeps her eyes on yours as you shrug out of your clothes. When you join Rebecc in the nude, you hear the wet cadence of Kylie’s self-diddling hasten. You kneel between your sheep-bitch’s open legs and grab your cock, a hard, achingly-needy member that’s longing to finally be sheathed again in a woman’s warmth and wetness. You give your cock a few prepping tugs before lining it up with Rebecc’s flower and prodding your crown against her. When your manhood is aligned with its target and needs only a single motion to be pushed into its new home, you release it and shift both of your hands to Rebecc’s hips, getting a good grip to claim her with. When you’ve got it, you set to thrust your hips forward.  
  
          But . . . no. This isn’t quite right. You won’t take her like this. Not without her submitting. She can’t be passive. She needs to give herself to you. She needs to make it clear to herself that she’s your _willing_ wife.  
  
          “Spread your cunt,” you command her.  
  
          Keeping her eyes obediently affixed to yours, Rebecc slowly shifts one of her shackled arms downwards, moving her hand to her crotch. Her throat pulses with a visible gulp. She puts two fingers on each side of her flower, and she hesitates only briefly before gently pulling open her newly-hairless folds, fully exposing the inner pink of her pussy.  
  
          “Tell me to take you.”  
  
          “Take me,” she whispers.  
  
          That’s more like it.  
  
          In one sharp thrust, you jam your hips into hers.  
  
          Rebecc’s hymen gives way and tears before your member, and Rebecc pulls her hand back and visibly tenses as you push into her. Her tunnel grips against each inch as you spear yourself through it, clenching from the discomfort of its first invasion. She’s a tight fit, as you’d expect from a virgin, and she’s no less warm or wet than she is snug. You hold there motionless for a moment and sigh, savoring the feel within her. You’d almost forgotten what a woman that _isn’t_ Kylie felt like, being that she’s received almost all your attention over the past two weeks. It’s a nice contrast.  
  
          Though Rebecc does a good job of keeping her eyes on yours, her face threatens to twist into a grimace from the pain of her deflowering. And you give her no chance to get accustomed to the feeling of fullness. You draw your hips back only to thrust back in, slotting your cock back to its hilt inside her warmth. With your hands on her hips, you pull Rebecc towards you in time with each of your forward thrusts, doubling the friction and pleasure as you forcefully smother every inch of your lengthy cock in the heat and moisture of her freshly-deflowered cunt. Though a nearly-overwhelming electric bliss webs up your spine as heat flushes through your core, you’re not content to simply rut Rebecc like this. She’s your newlywed bride, after all.  
  
          You lower your face to Rebecc’s and wedge your lips against hers, kissing her hungrily as your thrusting hips violently fuck her snug cunt. Greedy for still more stimulation, the pace of your hips quickens. Rebecc whimpers as her young, tight walls give way again and again around your aggressive, invading cock. Your balls clap into Rebecc’s big, jiggling ass as you send the sound of slapping flesh bouncing off the walls. You’ve very quickly transformed the cave into a lewd echo chamber of lust, of your groans, Rebecc’s whimpers and Kylie’s moans.  
  
          Your cock swells harder and thicker, invigorated by the soaking heat snuggling it from every direction, and the increased fullness has your sheep-bitch’s pussy feeling even tighter around you. You shift your hands from her hips, moving one to a cheek of Rebecc’s sizable ass and the other to the soft, white hair of the back of her head. You push your tongue further into her mouth and brush it over hers as you punch your cock into her with deep, full thrusts. You push your tongue and cock deep inside her, claiming the two holes as yours. Like your other wives before her, Rebecc belongs to you, and like every other woman who is yours, she’ll spend the rest of her days sating you and pleasing you whenever you seek it, taking your throbbing cock into her cunt and your fertile seed into her womb. And you want to hear her say it.  
  
          You tear your mouth from Rebecc’s and move your hand from the back of her head to her throat. “Tell me who you belong to,” you growl at her, your hips still thrusting.  
  
          Rebecc doesn’t answer you, and her eyes are still shut from your kiss. She’s too busy whimpering under the mercy of what you can only guess is a conflicting mess of pain and pleasure. So you squeeze your fingers into her throat, just enough to break her from her trance and to make her eyes snap open and meet yours.  
  
          _“Who do you belong to?”_ you snarl as you bring your face closer to hers.  
  
          “You,” she immediately whispers.  
  
          “And who am I?”  
  
          “Husband,” she says.  
  
          There’s this look in Rebecc’s eyes you’ve never seen from her. Not quite fear . . . not quite misery . . . it seems like . . . _awe._ Awe of _you._ Rebecc had never seen this part of you, this relentless _dominance._ She’ll be seeing it much more in the future. The only question is whether she’ll grow accustomed to it, as the sweet, obedient girl behind you has.  
  
          You reward Rebecc’s obedience with a fiery kiss, pushing your tongue into her mouth, and this time, she embraces it. She opens her mouth wide for you, and her tongue dances with yours. Likewise, below you, her legs splay and spread open, giving you an easy, open angle to pound her, and that you do. You take her hard and deep, pushing deep inside her, kissing her cervix with your cockhead at the apex of every thrust. Her show of obedience submission is well-timed, as your gut and balls soon clench and tighten. A pressure builds in your core, the sign of your coming end. You’ve plucked Rebecc’s flower. Now it’s time to fertilize it.  
  
          Behind you, Kylie’s moaning suddenly and loudly shifts into a shrill cry of bliss as she reaches her second orgasm. Her wet fingers continue to audibly pleasure herself as she does all she can to forcefully wring her orgasm for every ounce of ecstasy it’ll give her.  
  
          You bottom out balls-deep into Rebecc and press the tip of your throbbing cock against the winking hole of her cervix. A warm, tingling bliss seeps into your bones as your cock starts twitching out your load, spewing thick ropes of virile seed directly into Rebecc’s fertile womb. You expel the air from your lungs with a throaty groan as you climax. You cum and cum for what feels like an eternity, filling your newest wife’s womb until you’ve no doubt that it’s a mess of white and sloshing with your seed.  
  
          You let out another groan when you pull out. With your member no longer damming it, the seed that has no room to rest in Rebecc’s womb is freed from between the lips of her well-used cunt, flowing in a thick, clumpy river of white. As thick as it is, there’s a damn good chance that this load will take inside her. Your half-erect cock is smeared with the mark of a good fucking, of your seed and of Rebecc’s wetness, and solely by an instinct you’ve grown over the past two weeks, you begin to wonder where your submissive cock-cleaner is. Then, sure enough, Kylie appears beside you, kissing your cheek.  
  
          “Can I clean you, Daddy?” she asks. “I want to taste it.”  
  
          You nod.  
  
          Kylie gets onto her hands and knees and wets her soft lips with two flicks of her tongue, getting them good and ready to please and clean you. When they are, she lowers her mouth to your crotch and pushes those plump, puckered of hers down the crown of your sensitive cock, drawing a quiet gasp from you. Kylie grabs you by the base of your shaft, but only to keep you steady. She knows better than to use her hands on your cock. She knows that’s cheating. Kylie then immediately gets to work bobbing her head, pushing her moist lips up and down your length from tip to base, taking you to the back of her throat with every thrust, never gagging or sputtering. She worships you with her warm tongue, brushing it along your cock in long, firm licks, lapping away more and more of the fluids slicked against your member as she happily sucks you clean, an activity she’s practiced to perfection. She cups your balls in her soft fingers and cradles them gently in her hand, teasing and rolling them, all while she continues fellating you. Despite still being a teenaged girl, Kylie is already a _masterful_ cocksucker. She puts her mother to shame.  
  
          Kylie soon manages to urge you into a swift second orgasm, drawing out another load of a few more thick spurts of cum that spatter her tongue. Your sweet girl gladly swallows each salty string of your seed the very moment she tastes them, moaning softly as she gulps down your gift to her. After she’s certain that she’s swallowed the last of it, Kylie pops your limp, thoroughly-cleaned member from her lips and gives your cockhead a quick, loving kiss. When you and her stand to your feet, you reward her efforts with a sharp swat to her tight ass, which draws a gleeful squeal from her.  
  
          With the both of you utterly sated, you and Kylie grab your discarded clothes one piece at a time. When you’re dressed, you both look to Rebecc. She’s motionless on her bedroll, eyes closed, waiting for sleep to come and take her. Your white seed still trickles from between her legs. At least she isn’t crying. Numbness is a better sign than hysterics.  
  
          “Do you think she’ll be good?” Kylie asks.  
  
          “Yeah. I do.”  



	3. Strong Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father relocates and establishes a sturdy foundation for his growing family.

          Rebecc already has an early baby bump swelling in her once-flat tummy, proof that your virile seed has done its job. Kylie’s belly has grown even larger as well. With two new children on the way, you’re realizing more and more that your small, makeshift campsite guarding the portal isn’t really fit for housing your family of broodmares and their always-growing broods. How many are there now?  
  
          . . . There’s your gold-feathered and platinum-haired harpy bimbo Sophie, your heavily-pregnant daughter Kylie, as well as your second unborn harpy daughter – or is it _grand_ daughter? – soon inbound,  
  
          . . . There’s your corrupted, curvaceous, brown-haired, purple-furred mouse-slut Amily and her litter of three girls and one boy: Averie, Alaya, Natalia, and Kian, who all have your gray eyes and all are still young and still breastfeed,  
  
          . . . Then there’s your begrudging and oft-griping succubus servant Vapula, who is overdue for another _“lesson,”_  
  
          . . . And, lastly, you have your chained and newly-expectant sheep-girl Rebecc.  
  
          It’s already a big family, and it’s only going to get bigger. And those in your camp here aren’t your only wives and children. You’ve also got your smaller family over at . . . actually, come to think of it, the farm of your dog-wife Whitney would be a perfect home for you. It’s got plenty of space for your children to play and plenty of ways for your wives to keep themselves busy whenever you’re away. Corrupting Whitney and warping her mind to obey your will was one of your earliest acts after you’d let the corruption overtake you, and she’d now gladly let you make her farm officially yours. Your centaur broodmare-wife Kelly will be overjoyed as well, and her twin foals, Cain and Hannah, your youngest children, will be able to spend as much time with their father as they please.  
  
          There’s no good reason to stay here. You’ve been hesitant towards the thought of leaving this place for a long time now, but no, not anymore. Making camp here and defending this portal is a fucking _worthless_ endeavor. What’s the point of it? To ward off demons from a portal that you’re not even sure could ever be activated from this side? To keep safe a village you haven’t called home for years? To protect the people you _used_ to know, to protect those who were a part of your _old_ life? No, your old family will just have to fend for themselves. You’ve got a new family to look after, and a crude camp of tents, bedrolls, and nests won’t suffice for them. They deserve better, and you’ll give them better.  
  
          You have Kylie and Vapula fly the heavy trunk filled with your possessions over to the farm first, and according to Kylie, Whitney was thrilled to hear that you’d decided to make her farm your new home. With that out of the way, you gather your family – including Rebecc, who you un-chain and gag and throw some clothes on to make her decent for the children – and you do a head count to make sure everyone is present. Vapula, Kylie, Sophie, Rebecc, Amily, Averie, Alaya, Natalia, Kian, uh-huh, everyone’s here. Looking at them now, they form a pretty smooth gradient of heights. The tallest of them, Kylie, stands at six-foot-four, Sophie at six-foot-three, Vapula six-foot-one, Rebecc five-foot-seven, Amily five-foot-two, and your little mouselings all stand below four feet. They’re all dressed in clean, makeshift clothes freshly washed in the nearest river, or, at least, everyone but Sophie, but that was one fight that you just couldn’t win. _“I just, like,_ suffocate _in that stuff,”_ she’d told you once. Considering how often she’s holding one of your little ones to her teat, you decided to let her be nude and have her way, just this once. That and the fact that her crotch-feathers do a fairly good enough job of hiding her cunt and keeping her decent.  
  
          After you gather everyone’s attention with a sharp, echoing snap of your fingers, you tell them point-blank, “We’re moving.”  
  
          Sophie, Amily and your mouselings all burst into cheers at the news, and as you watch your little ones jump with joy, you can’t help but feel a little excited yourself.  
  
          “Where are we going, hubby?” Amily asks you eagerly as Alaya and Averie jump up and down beside her legs, their mouse-tails happily whipping about and lashing back and forth.  
  
          “Whitney’s farm,” you answer. “Over on the lakeside.”  
  
          “Thank the Gods,” Vapula mutters, and you certainly agree with that sentiment.  
  
          Rebecc watches you intently as you speak, clearly paying attention to your words. You’re sure she’s wondering if she’ll have the good fortune of not being chained in a cave again after the move.  
  
          When Sophie, Amily, and the little ones quiet themselves, you then explain, “We’re leaving today, at midday, and we’re travelling light. Don’t bother bringing anything you don’t absolutely need. It’ll be a two-hour long walk, and the sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll be there.”  
  
          “Daddy,” Kylie says, drawing your eyes to her as she points her finger back and forth between herself and Vapula. “Wouldn’t it be quicker if we flew everyone there, one at a time?”  
  
          “It probably would be, sweetie,” you tell her with a smile. “And that’s good thinking, but I don’t trust flying the little ones. I don’t like the thought of dangling them over the earth – so we’ll walk together.” You whip your head to Vapula and glare at her as you then say, “ _All of us_.”  
  
          Vapula throws her gaze up at the sky and groans. You’re sure she would’ve liked to simply fly to the farm herself, but that won’t be happening. You need her.  
  
          . . .  
  
          Midday comes a few hours later, and you gather everyone again and do one last head-count before you and your group start out towards the lake.  
  
          Vapula stays in flight overhead, keeping her head on a swivel and watching in every direction for any possible attackers, that and to stay ready to swiftly re-capture Rebecc if she dares to make a mad dash and run for freedom, which you’re confident she won’t.  
  
          Amily and Sophie walk at the rear of the group, both holding Averie and Natalia against their chests, the two girls' mouths latched tightly onto their mothers' teats, their snubbed mouse-noses pressed into soft breast-flesh as they suckle and fill their hungry bellies. You walk at the front with Kylie directly by your side, who clasps her fingers through yours with one hand and pets her massively-pregnant belly with the other. Rebecc walks in the middle of your convoy. Kian and Alaya never stay in any one position for long but are always in arm’s reach, floating back and forth from you to their mothers.  
  
          The hard, red rocks of the wasteland soon fade into the green, grassy earth of the lakeside. If nothing else, your new home will at least be much easier on the eyes, and knowing how often you yourself are out and about, your feet will be grateful for the soft grass.  
  
          Averie and Natalia spend most of the trip breastfeeding, Averie from Amily’s breasts and Natalia from Sophie’s. As usual, Sophie treats Natalia as though she had birthed the mouse-girl herself, cooing to the happily-drinking girl just as sweetly as she did when she breastfed Kylie. As frustrating as your ditzy bird-bitch wife can often be, she’s a good, loving mother, and if nothing else, you’ll always have respect for that part of her.  
  
          Kian and Alaya spend a long while marveling over the gagged Rebecc and poking her baby bump with curious fingers, which Rebecc takes with a surprising grace, and though it was only out of the corner of your eye, you could swear that you saw Rebecc ruffle Kian’s hair.  
  
          “When is the new baby coming, Daddy?” Alaya asks you with a faint and adorable lisp – which’ll be gone before long. Kylie had a lisp when she was young too, but she’s perfectly well-spoken now.  
  
          “Soon,” you answer without looking to her.  
  
          “What will it be like?”  
  
          “I don’t exactly know, sweetie.”  
  
          “Will it be nice?”  
  
          “Hopefully.”  
  
          “Will it be smart?”  
  
          “Maybe.”  
  
          “It can’t be any dumber than Alaya,” Kian remarks snidely, and that draws a scowl from her.  
  
           Kylie whips her head towards her little brother. “Don’t talk like that,” Kylie scolds him. “She’s your sister.”  
  
          “So?” Kian asks with a _“cool kid”_ shrug.  
  
          You look to him over your shoulder. _“‘So,’_ how many times do I have to tell you to treat your siblings well?” you ask him tiredly.  
  
          He avoids your gaze and stares at the ground.  
  
          “Look at me, Kian,” you command him sternly, and he obeys. “I know it’s fun to be mean,” you tell him, speaking clearly and carefully. “But save it for people _outside_ the family. Okay?”  
  
          His rounded mouse-ears perk up at that. “Okay!” he says cheerfully with a happy nod, and he starts skipping about with a spring in his step.  
  
          For her part, Rebecc spends most of the trip staring wistfully up at the cloudless sky as she walks. She occasionally pets the baby bump on her tummy, but not with even half the motherly love Kylie does with hers. But you’re not worried. Rebecc is the first lover that you’re letting come to her senses completely of her own accord, without corrupting her, mind-warping her, or force-feeding her a bottle of Bimbo Liqueur, and you know full well that it’ll be a process. A _slow_ process. It’ll take time. Baby steps.  
  
          “Kylie, hold your siblings’ hands,” you command her as you release her. You slow your pace a bit until you’ve lagged back enough to stride shoulder-to-shoulder with Rebecc. Kylie smiles to Kian and Alaya as she takes their hands, and Alaya lovingly rests her head against her big sister’s hip as they walk.  
  
          You pull Rebecc’s gag from her mouth and take the long flask of water from your belt. “Thirsty?” you ask.  
  
          “Yes,” she answers quietly.  
  
          You hand her the flask. She takes a few heavy gulps before you snatch it out of her grip. “Easy now,” you say to her. “Leave enough for everyone else. We’ve got a whole thirsty family here, remember?”  
  
          “Sorry,” she mumbles.  
  
          You walk next to Rebecc in silence for a minute, choosing your words carefully before you speak again.  
  
          “We’re a close-knit bunch,” you muse with a slow, thoughtful nod. You point to Kylie in front of you and say, “You see Kylie up there? She loves Kian and Alaya like they were born of the same womb. Averie and Natalia, too. They’re _important_ to her. She _cares_ about them. And you know who taught her to do that? _Me._ I taught her to love them and I taught them to love her back. I did what all good fathers do. I taught them _the importance of family._ ”  
  
          You take a swig from the flask before screwing its lid back on and fastening it against your belt. _  
  
_           “Listen, Rebecc,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest, and she turns to you and meets your eyes. “You can call me what you want. _‘Corrupted.’ ‘Rapist.’ ‘Monster.’_ And maybe I am all those things, but I love my family. I love them to death. I would _die_ for my children, Rebecc. My family is _everything_ to me. . . and you’re a part of that family now. And maybe it doesn’t feel like it to you yet, I understand, but when you birth that baby, when you hold it in your arms, when you see it playing with the other children, when you see the kind of home I’ll be giving it, I think you’ll realize that I’m giving you a good life. A life that’s _more_ than worth living.”  
  
          You’d intended to lie through your teeth when you started talking with Rebecc, but, as it went on, you realized that everything you said was true. You _do_ love your family, all of them, even the most frustrating and dim-witted of your lovers, and you _would_ die for your children.  
  
          Your words seem to weigh heavy on Rebecc, and her blue, dewy eyes flitter across yours. She opens her mouth to speak, but a high-pitched whistle from Vapula in the sky above stops her and takes your attention.  
  
          “Kylie, stop!” you shout to her, and she halts in her tracks as she looks back to you. You hurry up to her and stand beside her and her siblings. You hold your hand over your brow, blocking the harsh sun and letting you see clearer down the grassy field. Sure enough, a trio of short, red-skinned imps all sporting obscenely large and needy erections come into your view. The talons on Kylie’s feet subconsciously flex and tap into the earth beneath them as the instincts you drilled into her start kicking in.  
  
          Spotting your family of curvaceous, breast-feeding mothers to abuse and young children to victimize, the imps’ well-hung cocks jump to attention and twitch eagerly as their faces all take on malicious grins, but a moment later, their grins vanish when they look to you and recognize you. You raise one hand and prepare to snap your fingers, and at that, the imps promptly turn and sprint away, running for their lives.  
  
          “ _Aww_ ,” Sophie groans and pouts her lips, still holding the suckling Natalia in her arms. “Why’d you, like, scare them off?” she gripes. “Did you _see_ their cocks? They were, like, swinging at the knees! They would’ve been _so much_ _fun_. We could’ve, like, had a _nice, big, gangba_ —”  
  
          — _Crack!_ You silence Sophie with a sharp slap across her face, which elicits a series of giggles from your young ones, including Natalia, who breaks her lip-seal on Sophie’s nipple to laugh, sputtering white milk over herself as she does so. A half-smile even crooks around Kylie’s lips, ever-so-slightly amused by your punishing of her mother. Rebecc looks from Sophie’s burning-red cheek to your young ones with a strong confusion in her eyes. You bet she’d never expect to see children burst into laughter from the striking of their mother whose very breasts they frequently feed from.  
  
          “ _Children,_ ” you hiss at Sophie between gritted teeth. How could she be so stupid as to suggest a gangbang when your little ones are around? Not to mention that you must’ve told this dumb slut ten, no, a hundred, no, _a thousand times_ that the only man that will be between her legs from now until the end of time will be you. Why can’t she be good? Why can’t she be like her fucking daughter? You’re seething with rage now, but your anger slightly abates when you think you can actually see the slow, rusty gears in Sophie’s head turning as she realizes the error of her ways.  
  
          “I’m sorry, hubby,” Sophie says. “You’re right, I totally wasn’t, like, thinking about the little ones,” she concedes as she looks down to Natalia, who has now returned to happily suckling her mother’s teat.  
  
          You only barely manage to tear your fiery glare away from Sophie, and you wet your thumb with your tongue and wipe the dribble of milk off of Natalia’s furry chin. She looks up at you with innocent eyes when she feels your touch. “Sweet girl,” you coo to her. Natalia smiles up at you, and you sigh as the last of your anger fades.  
  
          With that, you resume your journey.  
  
          The last half-hour is uneventful, thankfully, and you find your dog-woman Whitney, your centauress Kelly, and your young centaur children Hannah and Cain all waiting to welcome you and the rest of their new family at the edge of the farm’s grounds.  
  
          Whitney is somewhat short-standing, similar to Amily, and she isn’t curvaceous. She’s fit and slender, and her mostly sandy-colored fur darkens to a dusky black at the farthest of each of her limbs. Her muzzle is very similar to a golden retriever’s, and her dark-brown eyes match the color of her shoulder-length hair. She’s wearing her usual outfit of a simple cotton blouse and long skirt, the latter of which has a small hole cut into it to allow her short, often-wagging dog-tail to poke through.  
  
          Kelly, despite being a centaur with the bottom half of a horse below her human navel, stands no taller than you – your young centaur son Cain already nears her height – and thus you’d say Kelly is more half- _pony_ than half-horse. Her long, chestnut-brown hair is weaved into a single braid that she lets rest on her left shoulder, and her emerald-green eyes always glitter when they look to you. She’s incredibly feminine. Her lips are plump and womanly, and her large breasts swell out her modest, checkered shirt. She wears nothing on her bottom horse-half, but her resting tail usually obscures her puckered asshole and equine cunt, keeping her decent. Though their eyes are the same shade of gray as yours, Hannah and Cain share the brown color of their mother’s hair, and Hannah braids her hair just as Kelly does.  
  
          They all greet you joyously, and thanks to their centaur stature, you don’t have to drop on your knees to take Hannah and Cain into a big, loving group hug. You introduce Averie, Alaya, Natalia, and Kian to Hannah and Cain, and you give a fatherly chuckle when your centaur foals gladly allow your mouselings to ride atop them as they dash around the farm. Centaur culture dictates that allowing a person to ride them is humiliating, but that’s always struck you as stupid and closed-minded, and you made sure that Kelly knew to teach your children different. If anything, having an ally ride their back has many practical uses. Though most people probably wouldn’t think it, as you look to your children playing together, you firmly believe you are a positive influence in their lives.  
  
          With your children safely out of earshot – but still safely in sight – you ungag Rebecc and look over each of your wives. “Now, most of you here have done these before,” you tell them. “ _‘The Five Vows.’_ I believe everyone but Kylie and Rebecc has said them, but I don’t care, you’re all going to say them again. So, down on one knee, all of you.”  
  
          They all comply. Kylie, Sophie, Amily, Whitney, Kelly, and even Vapula and Rebecc each quickly drop to one knee, though Kelly – being a centaur – kneels a bit awkwardly. But they’re all still looking to you, and that’s not what you desire. It’s not submissive enough.  
  
          “Bow your heads,” you command them.  
  
          They obey.  
  
          “Now, repeat after me,” you tell them, your voice stern and heavy with the tone of authority.  
  
          The First Vow. “‘I swear myself to you.’”  
  
_“I swear myself to you,”_ they all say in near-perfect unison.  
  
          The Second Vow. “‘I swear to do as you bid when you bid it.’”  
  
          _“I swear to do as you bid when you bid it.”_  
  
          The Third Vow. “‘I swear to sate you when you seek it.’”  
  
_“I swear to sate you when you seek it.”_ _  
  
_           The Fourth Vow. “‘You are my one and only husband.’”  
  
          _“You are my one and only husband.”_ _  
  
_           The Fifth Vow. “‘You and your children are my life, now and forever.’”  
  
_“You and your children are my life, now and forever.”_ _  
  
_           You nod, satisfied. “Good. You can stand.”  
  
          They did well, and they all said the vows with their own individual flavor. Kylie said it sweetly and demurely, Sophie said it dopily, Amily said it subserviently, Kelly said it eagerly, Whitney said it in her cute country drawl, and Rebecc said it hesitantly and uncertainly. Vapula said it with an edge of anger and bitterness, but that doesn’t displease you. Having a wife that’s somewhat openly defiant against you is a much-needed change of pace. She always obeys you in the end, anyways, and it pleases you to see her futilely irritated with being bound to you.  
  
          They all rise to their feet, and you watch Rebecc in particular for her reaction. She looks attentive to whatever your next words will be. She seems almost. . . obedient. Is she finally trying to gain your favor? Regardless, you think you’ll have her spend her nights locked in the cellar of the farmhouse, at least until she births her first child. You don’t trust her, not yet, and the only person who can start changing that is her.  
  
          With the Five Vows out of the way, it’s time to assign everyone their duties.  
  
          Firstly, you tell them, “As you swore in your vows, everyone with a pussy will sate me whenever I desire, at the very moment I desire you. Day or night, tired or not, you will open your legs to me,” you pause and raise your right hand for added effect before adding, “At the snap of my fingers.”  
  
          Sophie, Amily, Whitney, and Kelly, the most mindless and sycophantic of your followers, are all overjoyed to hear this. “I’m so glad you’re here, hun!” Whitney cries out in her usual country twang as her short doggie tail wags furiously behind her. When she speaks, you remember that, with Kylie having one on the way, Whitney is one of only two here – aside from Vapula, who is another story entirely – who you still have not bred. Sometime soon you’ll need to get around to giving the woman her first child.  
  
          You turn to her and declare to her, “Whitney, you and Kelly will convert the empty barns into homes with bedrooms as soon as possible. I want everyone in this family to have a room for themselves. And whenever you two aren’t doing that, I want you working the crops. There’s a lot of hungry mouths to feed and it’s only going to get worse from here on out.”  
  
          “Amily, Sophie, you’ll be the primary caretakers. You’ll be the ones responsible for looking after my children, bathing them, showing them how to walk and talk, teaching them to know to obey me and only me and to know that my word is law and final. You’ve both done it at least once before, and you’re going to do it many more times in the future. And I want you to pump yourselves with the farm’s milkers.” Your gaze hardens as you add gravely, “It is _absolutely crucial_ for you to use those milkers. Someday very soon the hungry mouths are going to _far_ outnumber the available tits to suckle.”  
  
          “Vapula, Kylie, you’ll be the farm’s official _‘watchwomen.’_ Your wings make you best suited for watching over the boundaries of the farm and making sure no wandering _undesirables_ step foot on my land. You both have my permission to kill anyone who you think poses a danger to our family.” That last remark gives Vapula a giddy, malicious thrill, and it even seems to give Kylie some amount of excitement. She’s never taken a life before, but you're confident that she'll be able to do it if it comes down to defending her beloved brothers and sisters. As much as you wish she could stay innocent from deadly violence forever, in this world, that just can’t be the case.  
  
          “Rebecc,” you say as you look to her, and you can see and hear her swallow a nervous gulp. “Whenever the time comes that you decide you can be more than a girl with a pussy for me to fuck, when you can start pulling your weight in this family and be a _mother_ to my children, then you can help Whitney and Kelly tend to the crops, just like you did at Owca.” Rebecc blushes with shame at your nonchalant reference to her genitals, but she doesn’t take her eyes from yours. “You’ll work in the fields at your own pace,” you add, and then you sweep your eyes over all your wives. “I’m not going to work anyone here like a slave,” you tell them. “I’m not a slavemaster. I’m a father.”  
  
          “As for the little ones,” you add as you turn to your children playing down by the farmhouse, “I want them treated like queens and kings. Entertain them. Keep them happy. I want them to enjoy their childhoods as much as they can. Gods know I never got that chance,” you muse with a rueful shake of your head. “When the time comes, after they’re grown, I’ll show my girls how to be mothers and I’ll show my boys how to be fathers.”  
  
          With those last few words in mind, you start daydreaming of having your boys accompany you on your abduction runs. That’d be quite the father-sons bonding opportunity, wouldn’t it? You and Kian riding in and out of Tel’Adre on Cain’s back with a bound-and-gagged girl riding with you. It wouldn’t be too hard to help your boys gather harems of their own. They’re your sons, after all, and you know they deserve nothing less than having their own whores to please them whenever they desire it. Maybe someday soon your farm will evolve into a little family-village in its own right, a village that _you’ll_ be the mayor of. It’s fun to dream of, at least.  
  
          “Daddy?” Kylie chimes in, prompting everyone’s heads to turn to her, yours included. “What will you be doing?”  
  
          Vapula crosses her arms and lets out a short, bitter laugh. Rebecc’s eyes widen at the question, and she looks like she’s afraid you’re going to strike Kylie like you did her mother, but your reaction is only the opposite. To hear your daughter ask a genuine, curious question like that, to know that she is anything _but_ mindless and yet still holds the love for you that she does, it flushes you with pride for your sweet girl. You stride over to Kylie and put a gentle hand to her chin, and her bright eyes meet yours as you tilt her head up and take her soft lips into a tender kiss. You can practically hear Sophie pouting in jealousy.  
  
          “That’s a great question, sweetie,” you tell Kylie when you pull your lips from hers. “I’ll be doing the most important job of all,” you pause and caress her pregnant belly with her before adding, “Making our family bigger.”  
  
          . . .  
  
          You get everyone settled in as nightfall comes. Rebecc is locked in the farmhouse’s cellar, and everyone else is lied down to sleep on bedrolls in the front room. It’s not too different from living at the old campsite, but that’ll change as Whitney furnishes the old barns. The barn formerly belonging to Marble would be a good place to start. As for you, you plop your tired butt down on the edge of the large mattress in the farmhouse’s master bedroom, which Whitney gave up to you without objection. Right away you notice how nice of a house this is. No wonder Whitney can manage to be so well-rested despite working as hard as she does. The gentle beige of the wallpaper, the soft, carpeted floor that hugs the soles of your feet, the thick, plush blankets of this bed that tempt you to collapse in it, it’s all so very. . . _cozy._ You’re definitely going to get used to this place.  
  
          You hold your hand to your mouth and yawn a long breath just as the sound of knocking draws your attention. You turn and see Kylie standing in the open doorway, her closed fist resting against the wall. The way she’s standing, just partway through the doorway, you can only see her outstretched arm, her peeking head, and her pregnant belly. “Daddy,” she says meekly, looking a bit worried to have dared to disturb you. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”  
  
          You smile and nod. “Of course, sweetie.” You hold a hand out towards her. “Get over here.”  
  
          Kylie closes the door behind her and starts over to you. She’s wearing her usual makeshift bra and breeches, but you suspect she won’t be for long. As you get a good look at her now, your smile widens as you see just how obscenely pregnant your daughter truly is. The skin of her stomach is stretched tight over her giant, enlarged womb, and her cute, once-innie navel is now a bulbous, cute-in-its-own-right outie. If she was human you’d be fearing that Kylie’s stomach and breasts would always bear some reminding scars and stretchmarks of this pregnancy, but, thankfully, harpies are the pinnacle of sex appeal. They rebound perfectly from pregnancy. Tits stay perky, tummies stay pretty, pussies stay tight. Necessary traits for an all-female race that needs to seduce males to reproduce.  
  
          “I want to show you something,” Kylie whispers. “Look.”  
  
          Kylie slips off her bra, and you let your eyes fall to her breasts. Her nipples, which were once brightly-pink but have now darkened a shade from her pregnancy, are each dribbling thin trails of white milk down the soft feathers of her shapely tits. Her body’s preparing to feed her incoming daughter – _your_ incoming daughter. You put your hands to Kylie’s hips as you marvel at the thought of it: the very seed that gave your daughter life is now bringing a new child in that same daughter’s womb. It feels a little wrong. . . but it also feels _so_ right. The tiny inkling of shame you feel for impregnating your daughter is buried beneath a _sea_ of thrill and arousal.  
  
          “Taste it, Daddy,” Kylie says. “It’s sweet.”  
  
          You peer up at her as a smirk comes to your lips. “Did you taste yourself?” you ask her with a light, humorous tone.  
  
          “Mhm,” she hums with an eager nod. As if to give you proof, she lifts her left boob and cranes her neck downward. She takes her nipple between her lips, and her jaw starts bobbing as she gulps down her own milk.  
  
          “You’re a twisted little thing, aren’t you?” you chuckle.  
  
          She drops her tit from her mouth and frowns. “Is that bad?” she asks you timidly.  
  
          “ _No_ , sweetie,” you laugh again. “It’s not bad at all. Kylie, you’re—” your breath catches in your throat as warmth suddenly swells in you. It’s that feeling of fatherly pride again. You’re starting to get addicted to that feeling. _This_ is why you do what you do. _This_ is what fatherhood is all about. Kylie is such a great girl, a sweet girl. You can only hope that all of your daughters will end up like her. Your happiness would truly never end. “. . . You’re perfect.”  
  
           That puts a smile on her lips. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispers to you.  
  
          “I love you too, sweetie,” you whisper back. "More than you’ll ever know.”  
  
          She moves your hand from her hip to her boob. “Drink with me,” she says. That’s one offer you’d never refuse.  
  
          You lean forward and press your lips over her pink, milk-leaking nipple as Kylie puts her other tit back to her mouth. You squeeze her breast and hollow your cheeks, sucking inwards. Kylie shudders and moans from your suckling of her sensitive teat, and your efforts are soon rewarded with a thick jet of warm milk to the flat of your tongue. Just as Kylie said, her milk has this strange, incredibly sweet taste to it, almost like it’s laced with a strong cane sugar. Your brows furrow at the surprising taste, but it’s delicious, and you don’t stop. You join Kylie in drinking straight from the tap, gulping squirt after squirt of her milk down your throat. She keeps on moaning around her closed, suckling lips, pleasured by the draining of her swollen breasts. Your gut starts to feel a little swishy and heavy, but the flow of milk still doesn’t stop, and thus you don’t either. Kylie climbs onto the edge of the bed and into your lap, giving her weary legs a rest from heaving around her gravid belly, and you hug her close to you with your free hand.  
  
          A warm, tingling pleasure flushes through you as your stomach is filled, and it’s then that you realize Kylie’s milk isn’t just unnatural, it’s corrupted – _heavily_ corrupted. But that revelation doesn’t disturb you. If anything, it thrills you. It means you can finally take something else you need from Kylie.  
  
          When you finally empty Kylie’s breast, you look up and find her smiling down at you. She’s already finished hers. You let her nipple pop from your mouth and peck a quick kiss on her lips before turning her and pushing her down behind you, down onto her back. She slips off and kicks away her breeches before taking one of the pillows from the top of the bed and wedging it under her back, giving her and her heavy belly some much-needed support as she spreads her long legs for you. You’ve fucked her enough for her to be accustomed with the how-to’s of pregnant sex, but that’s not what you’ll be doing right now. Instead of putting your knees down between her open legs like she expects you to, you slip down and kneel by the foot of the bed, and you reach under it and pull out your trunk.  
  
          “Daddy? What’re you doing?” Kylie asks as you flip up the trunk’s lid and rifle through its varied contents. “Don’t you want my pussy?”  
  
          “Of course I do, sweetie,” you answer her soothingly. “But you’re ready now. I’ve got something for you.”  
  
          “What is it?” she probes, full of questions as usual.  
  
          Finally, you find what you’re looking for. A tall, glass vial of a pink fluid. A lust draft. You shake the vial a bit, waking the fluid and bringing it to a bubbling, roiling life. You stand to your feet and show Kylie the pink potion. “This,” you answer.  
  
          You grab Kylie’s legs and pull her over to the edge of the bed. You push her legs open again and uncork the vial with an audible _pop!_ Despite her confusion, Kylie doesn’t object as you spread the short-feathers hiding her cooch and push the mouth of the vial into her tight slit. You tip the butt of the vial upwards and pour its pink, bubbling contents into her pussy, emptying it into her tunnel. When the last of it swishes inside her, you toss the vial behind you and make sure to keep her cooch-feathers and pussy-mound pulled open, watching carefully. A long, low moan of pleasure comes from Kylie as the pink fluid dissipates and soaks into the wet walls of her cunt. The natural lubricant of your girl’s hyper-excited pussy triples in output as she starts positively _gushing,_ but. . . _damn_ , why didn’t she finish? That was a potent lust draft you just poured into her, but she didn’t orgasm.  
  
          You lower your mouth to her pussy and flick your tongue over the twitching, pink bud of her clitoris, and _that_ does the trick.  
  
          Kylie’s chest shoots forward as her great wings extend in an explosion of motion, blasting up the curtains on the window from the gust of air as her low moan turns to a cry of bliss. Her open thighs shake and tremble as her splayed wings flap repeatedly, blowing enough air into your face to make your eyes squint, but you keep your wits, remembering why you’ve done this to her, and you swiftly lower your mouth and plant it directly over your daughter’s quivering pussy. As Kylie cries out in bliss, a familiar but always-strange black liquid flows from her tunnel and fills your mouth, thick and viscous, with a texture and taste markedly different from her normal fluids. You give your sweet girl a few affectionate parting licks to her pink button, adding a few more icy spikes of pleasure to her orgasm that make her squeal in ecstasy, before you rise from between her legs and turn away from her. You open your mouth and drool the liquid into your hand, and a moment after it pools in your palm, the once-black fluid changes color into a deep gold flecked with white. The fluid changes consistency as its color shifts, solidifying into an irregular and bumpy but brilliantly-shining crystal.  
  
          “Daddy?” Kylie asks you breathlessly when she comes down from her high, her chest still heaving from her orgasm. “What’s that?”  
  
          “Your Lethicite,” you tell her as you turn to her, but judging by the confusion on her face, your explanation only puzzled her further. “It’s a piece of your soul, sweetie,” you explain as you hold the crystal out towards her, giving her a better look at it. “See how pretty it is? It’s golden and beautiful, just like you.”  
  
          Kylie’s eyes widen as she watches you return her Lethicite to your mouth. You crunch down on the crystal and chew it like a soft, brittle candy. It’s delicious and sweet, just like its owner, and you swallow it down gleefully. It hits your stomach, and you close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath as you brace for what comes next.  
  
          An excruciatingly burning feeling in your head drops you to your knees, and you groan from the bottom of your lungs as the agony crawls down your head and through your spine. Kylie hurries out of bed and kneels beside you as she tries to comfort you, but you only hardly notice her through the pain. It feels like your veins are carrying open flames through your body, like you’re submerged in a sea of fire. Then, suddenly, the pain evaporates, and you’re left in what feels like a slightly altered state of mind. You stand to your feet and wipe a trail of spittle from your bottom lip.  
  
          Yes, you definitely feel different. _Much_ different. Kylie’s Lethicite was a potent one. You’ve always known she was a special girl, but _damn._ Colors seem a bit sharper now, smells a bit stronger, and even magic feels easier to manipulate. You could do a hell of a lot more with a snap of your fingers now than you could before.  
  
          “Daddy, what—what happened?” Kylie stammers fearfully. “Are you okay?”  
  
          You turn to her as a wicked, nefarious smile comes to your lips. “I’m better than okay, sweetie,” you tell her, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think your voice sounds just the faintest bit deeper than before. Your smile widens as you then say to her, “I’m stronger.”  
  
          Kylie still looks a little afraid, but you know just how to convince her all is well. You push her back down into your bed and spread her legs again. You yank down your pants and free your long, aching cock, which now feels much more sensitive to the touch, and you gasp when you wrap your hand around it. Your balls seem a bit heavier, too, and, _Gods,_ if it feels this good with just your hand on it, you’re eager to find out how your pecker will feel when it’s sheathed in the heat of Kylie’s snug pussy.  
  
          Kylie lowers her hand to her crotch and pries open the short-feathers guarding her cunny, presenting her little wet slit to you as she locks her eyes with yours. You give her what she wants and press your member against your daughter’s hot, puffy pussy, but just before your cockhead can slip home into her wet, welcoming cooch, another knocking at the door draws your attention.  
  
          “Who is it?” you call out.  
  
          “Sophie,” she says quietly.  
  
          You groan an impatient sigh as you pull your cock away from Kylie’s cunt. “Come in,” you tell her.  
  
          Sophie opens the door just wide enough to slip through and shuts it behind her. She’s nude as usual, and her heavy, fat tits jiggle when she turns to see you and Kylie. “ _Hey_ ,” she says softly as she looks from Kylie’s waiting pussy to your erect cock. “I thought I’d find you two, like, having fun. Did I hear my little girl have a big O?”  
  
          “That you did,” you nod as you cross your arms.  
  
          Sophie nervously presses her two forefingers together as she looks back and forth from you to Kylie. “Can I join?” she asks with an eager smile. “We’ll be, like, one happy family, only, we’ll be in _bed_ together. One happy _sex_ family.” She giggles girlishly at her own horrendous joke.  
  
          “After what you did on the trip over here?” you growl at her, shattering her smile. “You’d be lucky if I ever touch you again.”  
  
          Her lips twist into a hurt frown. She hangs her head with what looks like true, heartfelt regret. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and you hear her gulp before she speaks again. “Hubby, I’m, li—. . . I’m. . . _really_ trying to be better. I _want_ to be good. It’s just. . . it’s _really_ hard. I’m so _horny_ all the time. . . but I know that’s not an excuse. I swear, hubby, I’m loyal to you. I always will be. I promise. I love you, and I love Kylie too. _Please_ ,” she begs as she clasps her hands together. “Let’s be together. The three of us. You, me, and our sweet baby.”  
  
          That. . . was surprisingly convincing. Gods, you can’t be _too_ mad at her, can you? You were the one that forcefully transformed her into the slutty bimbo that she is, after all. At the end of the day, as long as she’s loyal to you and your family, as long as she never _acts_ on those thoughtless suggestions of hers, then she’s still just as deserving of your affection as all your other wives. You let out a quick sigh and look back to Kylie behind you. She gives you an approving nod, and that settles that. One happy family coming right up. “Okay,” you say to Sophie with a curt nod. “Get in bed.”  
  
          “Yay!” Sophie cheers quietly. She hurriedly crawls into bed with Kylie and lays on her side next to her, joining their hair into one vast, shining sea of platinum, white-blonde locks. “Your tits are _so_ great baby, ohmi _gosh,_ ” Sophie coos to Kylie as she fondles her daughter’s soft, feathery breasts. “Nice and big but _sooo_ perky.”  
  
          “Thank you, Mama,” Kylie says graciously. She returns the favor by gingerly petting her mother’s massive breasts, but you can tell that Sophie’s sheer amount of tit-flesh is a bit mystifying to your girl.  
  
          Sophie and Kylie look to you and wait for you to get in bed with them, but you don’t. You stand right where you are. You won’t be joining them, not just yet. You want them to put on a show for you first.  
  
          “Kiss,” you command them.  
  
          Kylie gives her mother a nervous look, but Sophie has no such hesitation. She tilts her head and plants her open lips on her daughter’s, and Kylie gingerly accepts her and kisses her back. Sophie brings her tongue into the fray to play with her girl and kiss her more deeply, but Kylie doesn’t do the same, and their kiss stays partially chaste and awkwardly one-sided. You wonder if Kylie thinks her tongue is reserved for you.  
  
          “It’s okay, Kylie,” you assure her. “Kiss her like you kiss me.”  
  
          Kylie obeys and opens her mouth for her mother, letting their tongues join and mingle, trading saliva from one tongue to the other. The vast difference in experience is obvious as you watch them. Sophie moans as she expertly plays her lips over her daughter’s, brushing her tongue over Kylie’s in long licks that never miss their mark, all while Kylie simply acts the passive partner and tries her best to keep up with her slut of a mother. Sophie puts her hands back to her girl’s swollen breasts, groping and squeezing her tits, occasionally giving a gentle pinch to her stiff nipples. Probably as a learned response from the many times you’ve fucked her, the passionate kissing and boob-play goads Kylie into spreading her legs wider, readying herself for your manhood, offering you easy access to her pink pussy.  
  
          Eventually you decide that their show has gone on long enough without you. While your two bird-bitches are busy tongue-fucking each other, you climb into bed unnoticed and kneel between Kylie’s spread thighs. You grab your long, throbbing cock and align it with your sweet girl’s moist cleft, and you give no warning before thrusting hard into her little slit, prompting Kylie to squeak a high-pitched but kiss-muffled _“Eep!”_ as your member dives through her teen pussy, roughly forcing apart her vaginal walls. _Gods,_ she’s as tight as ever. Her hot cunny fits your hard cock nice and snug, and if it weren’t for her being sopping wet, it’d be a challenge to fuck her. As soon as she recognizes what just invaded her pussy, Kylie starts lovingly squeezing herself around you, hugging your cock with her well-trained pelvic muscles. You groan loudly, spending all your willpower simply to not cum on the spot. Kylie’s squeezing, still virginal-feeling cunt brings a burning, euphoric pleasure out of your aching cock, and her clenching cooch draws thick drops of your pre-seed oozing from you. Her swollen, rounded belly doesn’t budge a bit as you start fucking her well and rough, pushing all of your cock into her with every thrust, pounding her cunny and slapping your balls into the crack of her toned ass. Kylie makes her usual mewling moans of pleasure – something she never did the first few times you took her. Though you once weren’t sure of it, now that you know how much you’ve corrupted her, there’s no doubt in your mind that your sweet girl enjoys being violated by her father just as much as you enjoy doing the violating.  
  
          Sophie breaks her kiss with Kylie and spins herself downwards, lowering her head down below Kylie’s pregnant belly to get a better look at the action, and her tongue hangs from her open mouth as she dopily watches you plow her daughter. “ _That’s_ it, hubby,” she coos to you as she watches Kylie’s tight slit repeatedly swallow your girthy cock. “Pound that pussy, _oh yes._ ”  
  
          Sophie gives Kylie’s clitoris a couple long, loving licks, but boredom and a need for her own pleasure overtakes her. She shifts herself over to Kylie’s upper half again and plants her legs on each side of Kylie’s head. Sophie lowers her crotch downwards, and somewhat to your surprise, Kylie graciously plants her mouth over her mother’s sopping, drooling pussy, lapping her tongue around and inside Sophie’s needy cunt. You reach out and put your hand to the back of Sophie’s neck and pull her towards you as you take her lips into a kiss, pushing your tongue into her mouth and slathering it against hers, just like she did to Kylie. You smile around your wet kiss as you wonder just how much of the spit Sophie is trading with you is hers and how much of it is your daughter’s. Meanwhile, below her father and her mother, Kylie has slipped her hand under her big belly and is now circling a finger around her clit, occasionally giving the buzzer of pleasure a quick flick.  
  
          Being the randy slut that she is, Sophie finishes first, and the fluids of her pussy seep thick from her orgasm. Whatever isn’t swallowed by Kylie ends up coating her chin and cheeks. Kylie hits her second orgasm next, breathing a low, humming moan that reverberates in her mother’s cunny, heightening Sophie’s pleasure. Your nuts tighten and clench as they prepare to unload, but even as pleasurable as it’d feel, you know it’d be a waste to dump your cum in Kylie’s pussy when there’s an empty womb desperately needing your seed in this very room. Another _pop!_ echoes through the room as you pull out of Kylie, releasing a bubble of air that you’d jammed into her tight pussy, and you yank Sophie off of your daughter and push her down onto her back, all while still furiously tugging on your cock, keeping yourself hurtling towards your grand finale. You stuff yourself in Sophie’s incredibly hot twat _just_ as the first rope of seed jumps from your swollen cockhead, and you groan louder than ever as you hilt yourself and let your cock rest still as it twitches and wiggles in joyful, electric pleasure, slathering Sophie’s pussy-walls with white as the river of your frothy cum flows to her empty, waiting womb, its rightful resting place.  
  
          Only when your pelvic muscles give their last contraction do you pull your incredibly-sensitive dick from your bird-bitch’s cunt. It felt like the biggest load of your life – courtesy of Kylie’s Lethicite and your newest virility boost – and as you look down at the aftermath, you’re certainly proved right. Sophie’s womb and tunnel is filled to the brim, and your thick, white cum is oozing from your first wife’s well-seeded pussy. You sigh and wipe the sweat from your brow as you to look to Kylie beside you.  
  
          “Eat it,” you order her while you point to the mess you’ve made.  
  
          After you scoot aside and make room for her, Kylie obediently crawls to between Sophie’s legs and puts her mouth over her mother’s sloppy, spunky-white pussy, and you can hear her slurp as she laps up and gulps down your salty seed as it flows from Sophie’s cunt. Kylie doesn’t let a single drop hit the sheets of the bed, and you spot a mischievous grin curling around Sophie’s plump lips. Sophie reaches behind herself and props herself up a bit on her arms, and she lets gravity do the rest. The flow of your cum thickens and Kylie has no choice but to keep swallowing as the mixture of her father’s seed and her mother’s juices quickly and fully fills her mouth. Normally you’d object to one of your wives emptying their wombs just a short moment after you filled them, but Kylie eating your cum from her mother’s pussy is just too good of a sight to be upset about. When the flow stops, Kylie doesn’t show an ounce of queasiness or disgust. Instead she licks her lips, looking eager for more, but sadly, you don’t think you have the energy for a second round. Not tonight.  
  
          You collapse into bed between your two harpy wives, utterly exhausted, and Sophie and Kylie each put their arms around you as they snuggle against you. Nobody bothers pulling the blankets up. There’s more than enough heat from your bodies to keep you all warm.


	4. The King's in his Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief scare, the Father takes a day off and relaxes in his new home.

          The sunset bleeds reddish light from the horizon, and the evening air is cold enough for you to see your hot breath leave your nose. You’re nervously wringing your hands together as you sit on the top step of the farmhouse’s porch, with the front door just behind you. You can hear your family chatting and laughing in the dining room as they enjoy their dinner. Normally you’d be eating with them, but instead you’re here, waiting, still hoping to see Kylie descend from the sky. She should’ve been home an hour ago.  
  
          You decided this morning to invest in some good, actual clothing for your growing family, but most every adult in your family would be turned away at Tel’Adre’s gates, you for your _“reputation”_ and your wives for their known association to you . . . every adult except for Kylie. She volunteered to go, and you didn’t have much choice but to send her. She _assured_ you that she’d be fine, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. No more hand-me-downs, no more makeshift bras, no more jury-rigged raincoats fashioned from old tarps. Your little ones – who aren’t so little anymore – have gone too long without proper clothing, and you were going to put that to an end at last. You should’ve at least gone with Kylie to the edge of the city, but you thought that those wings and talons of hers would keep her safe. _Gods,_ how could you be so stupid? Sending a pregnant girl alone through Mareth? Wings and talons or not, every imp, drider, or minotaur she came across would be eager to assault her. If someone did something to Kylie, to your precious girl . . . you’d make them wish they were dead. You wouldn’t be able to cope with losing _any_ of your children, but Kylie, she’s your first, and there’s something special about that. No, if someone did something to _her,_ then you’d do a lot worse than make that person wish they were dead. You’d make the world burn.  
  
          A vivid memory seeps into your mind . . .  
  
          “Daddy,” Kylie whispered, pushing against your shoulder with a tiny, girlish hand.  
  
          You let out a low groan. It felt like the middle of the night. You were exhausted. You kept your eyes closed, clinging to that tiny ounce of hope that your little girl would just leave and let you sleep.  
  
          “Daddy,” Kylie whispered again with another prod of your shoulder.  
  
          Finally you surrendered. You groaned again and rolled over to face her. You snapped your fingers and lit the candle on your nightstand with a single ember of whitefire, illuminating your tent with a warm, soft light. Kylie stood beside your cot, looking down at you. She must’ve been just over four feet tall then. She held her pink comfort blanket around herself just beneath the roots of her wings, clutched in her hands. You don’t even remember where you found that thing, but it worked wonders for Kylie. There was a time when she couldn’t sleep without it. And this night was in that time.  
  
          Each of Kylie’s cheeks were marked by a line of partially dried tears. She’d been crying. Kylie was always a bit of a crybaby as a child, but no matter how many times she cried, it never got any easier to see.  
  
          You reached for her and gently wiped the tears from her face. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” you asked as you brushed a long lock of her messy hair behind her ear.  
  
          “I had a bad dream,” she said as she instinctively nuzzled her cheek against your hand.  
  
          Kylie always craved your touch, however she could get it, whether it was you hugging her, holding her at your hip, carrying her on your shoulders, kissing her on her cheeks, or even just cupping her face in the palm of your hand. She clung to you in a way she never quite did with her mother. A blessing and a curse. A blessing when she began mimicking _your_ speech patterns and not her mother’s. A curse when you had to awkwardly explain that she would in fact _not_ look like you when she grew up. A blessing when she happily accepted your affection whenever you felt that fatherly urge to damn near hug the life out of her. A curse when she wouldn’t release you from her arms for ten minutes after that hug was over. A blessing when you came home after a long day and had her land atop your shoulders and tell you that she missed you and that she loved you. A curse when you came home after a long day and found her sobbing in heart-breaking misery as she lamented your absence in the arms of a mother who couldn’t soothe her. Those were the times that made you question whether you were truly fit for fatherhood, and whether Kylie was born in misfortune to parents that could never properly care for her.  
  
          “Why didn’t you tell your mother?” you asked.  
  
          Kylie didn’t answer at first. “Because . . .” her voice trailed off into silence. She still had somewhat of a lisp on her S’s, but she was making good progress in correcting that.  
  
_“Because?”_  
  
          “Because . . . Mama doesn’t make me feel safe like you do.”  
  
          “Well, that’s what your blanket is for, right?” you asked her softly. “To help you feel safe?”  
  
          “Mhm,” she hummed as she hugged her blanket a bit tighter.  
  
          “So go fly back to the nest, sweetie. Snuggle up with your mother. You won’t have the bad dream again.”  
  
          “Can I sleep with you?”  
  
          You _knew_ she was going to ask that. “No, sweetie,” you told her. “Don’t start that. You’re fine in the nest with your mother. Just go back to sleep and I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”  
  
          “Please,” she begged. “Please, Daddy. I’m scared. I don’t want to go back. Please. It’ll just be for tonight. Please, please, please.”  
  
          You could almost never resist Kylie’s begging, and so it’s a damn good thing she rarely did it. It’s just as they said in Ingnam, _‘a daughter makes even the sternest man the softest father.’_  
  
          “Okay, okay,” you yielded. “But only for tonight, promise?”  
  
          Kylie smiled and nodded. “Promise,” she said.  
  
          Still to this day, Kylie has never lied to you.  
  
          With that, you tugged down the furs of your cot. Kylie folded her wings tightly behind herself and eagerly slipped into your bed, scooting herself against you and resting her head underneath your chin. Her long hair and feathery wings tickled your bare chest, but the feeling was more pleasant than irritating. As Kylie fidgeted around and made herself comfortable, without meaning to, one of the sharp talons of her feet scraped your ankle deep enough to break the flesh. You felt a trickle of blood, but the stinging pain was nothing you couldn’t sleep through, and so you said nothing of it. You didn’t want your sweet girl to blame herself for cutting you. You were certain that she’d start crying if she knew she’d hurt you.  
  
          You pulled the furs back up and wrapped them around the two of you, and Kylie sighed happily in their cozy warmth. You knew she’d be sound asleep before long.  
  
          “Daddy?” Kylie whispered. “Will you sing the Princess Song?”  
  
          “Aren’t you getting a little old for that?” you asked her with a smile.  
  
          “No,” she said flatly, and you chuckled at the bluntness of her answer.  
  
          “Okay,” you said, and you cleared your throat and put your arms around her before you began:  
  
_“Hush, my sweet little princess, don’t you cry,  
          Your Daddy the King has got for you a lull-a-by.”_  
  
          You sang each line slow and smooth, letting the words flow in a gentle, soothing tune. You had never been much of a singer, but the hoarseness of your tired voice gave your words a raspy sound that worked in your favor, making your song sound softer and more serene.  
  
_“The King’s daughter always has nothing to fear,  
          So please, princess, don’t shed a single tear._  
_Because everything in this world you see,_  
_You can say, ‘this all belongs to me.’_  
_For you, Daddy’ll make this world spin and turn,_  
_And if it won’t, Daddy’ll make it wither and burn.  
          This world’s Daddy’s and that means it’s yours too,  
          Because Daddy’s love for you is endless and true.”_ _  
_  
          Kylie was asleep by the song’s end, breathing softly and peacefully. You kissed the top of her head. “Sweet dreams, baby,” you whispered.  
  
          . . . Shit. You know she’s better off the way you did it, but a part of you still wishes you’d let Kylie go to bed with you every night. That was your best night of sleep in months, and it’s easy to figure why. Everything that mattered to you in the whole world was right there, in your arms, safe and sound.  
  
          “Your stew’s getting cold,” Whitney says as she appears beside you. You didn’t even hear the farmhouse door open.  
  
          You don’t bother turning to her. “Then I’ll eat it cold,” you grumble, keeping your eyes forward.  
  
          She puts a comforting hand to your shoulder. “I’m sure Kylie’s fine, hun. If there’s one thing I know about that girl, it’s that she can take care of herself. Smart girl, that one. Takes after her Pa, doesn’t she?”  
  
          “Yeah,” you nod. “She does.” You tap Whitney’s hand and spare her a quick glance. “Go back inside,” you tell her.  
  
          She smiles to you and pats your shoulder before heading back in.  
  
          You put your face in your hands and sigh. You need to head out. Just start searching for her, anywhere, everywhere. But before you can think over where to start, a _fwipping_ sound prompts you to pull your hands from your face as you look to the sky. The sound shifts into roaring gusts, whipping air across your face as Kylie descends to the earth. She’s working her great, golden wings a bit more intensely than usual, likely on account of the half-dozen linen bags she has tied around each of her limbs, with two also held in each hand. Her sharp talons sink deep into the soft earth as she plants her feet, and when her eyes meet yours, her eyes and lips shine in a sunny smile, like nothing ever happened, like you hadn’t just spent the last two hours worrying whether she was being gang-raped. She’s not wearing her standard makeshift bra and breeches anymore, but instead a pair of clean sweatpants and a thick, cozy-looking long-sleeved sweatshirt, which you can only guess has a cut-off back or zipper for the roots of her wings. It must be a maternity sweatshirt too, because it has no problem making space for the incredibly large swell of her pregnancy, which looks ready to pop any day now.  
  
          Kylie drops the two bags in her hands when you wrap your arms around her and take her into a loving hug. “You had me worried sick, Kylie,” you mutter. You squeeze her tight and bury your face in her hair as you draw a deep breath, taking her oh-so-familiar scent to the bottom of your lungs.  
  
          “It’s okay, Daddy,” Kylie laughs. “I’m fine.”  
  
          You turn your head and take Kylie into a kiss, and the two of you sigh together with your lips joined. But you keep the kiss brief, and you rear back and put a hand to her cheek. “Everything go alright?” you ask her.  
  
          “Yep,” she nods.  
  
          “You got everything on the list?”  
  
          “And then some,” she says as her smile widens.  
  
          “What do you mean?”  
  
          She produces a jingling pouch and puts it in your hands. You weigh it in your palm a bit before opening it and finding what must be a few hundred gems. “This is half of what I gave you to spend,” you tell her as you furrow your brow. “You didn’t use it?”  
  
          “I didn’t have to,” she says. Her still-widening smile looks ready to reach across each of her cheeks. What’s she so excited about?  
  
          “How’d you manage that?” you ask.  
  
          Kylie looks down at her egg bump and cups it with her hands. “I lied and said the egg was an imp’s. I even cried when I told them! I thought I could trick them, and I did!” She looks back to you now. “Did I do well, Daddy?”  
  
          Kylie lied about being raped and impregnated by an imp, she saved you a fistful of gems, she went beyond what you asked and improvised _masterfully_ . . . and she’s wondering if she did _well?_  
  
          You grab her hands and give her another quick kiss. “Yes, sweetie,” you answer. “You did _very_ well. In fact, tonight, I’m going to show you just how well you did. How’s that sound?”  
  
          Kylie steps forward and presses her body into yours. “It sounds great,” she whispers as she plants a series of kisses along your neck.  
  
           . . . _  
  
_           Your children are growing up _fast._ Your centaur foals and mouselings have all finished breastfeeding, and they’re nearly fully grown, as well. Averie, Alaya, and Natalia are all only a few inches shorter than their birthmother Amily, and you can guess they’ll be a bit taller than her when all’s said and done. Puberty is behind them now, and they’ve each acquired the curved, flared hips and pert, perky breasts of girls in their mid-teens. As for Kian, he’s already taller than Amily, and muscles are rising from his lean, masculine flesh. His jaw is squaring and his shoulders are widening. He’s becoming a man. If they were humans and uncorrupted, you’d peg your mouselings at about sixteen years of age or so. Still not quite _“there.”_ You’ll give them a little more time. Hannah and Cain, both being a bit younger than their mouse siblings, aren’t quite as grown as them, but they’re certainly getting there. You’d guess that they’re around twelve years old or so.  
  
          You’ve decided to take a day off to relax, and you spend the better part of it sitting and watching your teen mouselings from the farmhouse’s porch.  
  
          Kian and Averie are having a fierce jump-rope competition over by the nearest barn, while Sophie acts as a cheerleader for them. Kian and Averie are always burningly eager to prove themselves to you, and that’s led to a ferocious tit-for-tat rivalry between them. Averie seems to be defining herself as a tomboy. She’s the most active and sporty of your mouse-girls and it shows in her slenderness. Ave’s lean and tight from head to toe. She could probably crush a melon between her toned thighs. Ave and Kian both choose button t-shirts and cargo shorts as their standard attire, and Kian keeps his brown hair a bit short and shaggy, while Ave keeps her long hair bound in a tidy pony-tail. They’ve both long been interested in having you train them with a weapon, and they’re definitely old enough now for you to start teaching them. None of your children have shown themselves to possess your natural predilection for magic, and it’s possible none of them ever will. It certainly didn’t run in your old family.  
  
          Alaya is sitting with Kylie on a tall bale of hay, holding a notebook and pencil in her hands, scribbling doodles and drawings as Kylie watches and chats with her. Laya dresses herself just as Kylie does, in roomy sweatshirts and sweatpants. She keeps her hair long and unkempt, rarely brushing it, and she’s mostly curve-less, like her sister Ave, but with none of the tone or fitness or tightness. Laya’s a quiet girl. Shares a lot in common with Kylie. They’re both thoughtful, but the difference is that Laya doesn’t often have the courage to speak her mind. Laya has a shell, and she rarely comes out of it. Though you wish she’d open up more often to _you,_ you’re glad she at least has Kylie. It’s good that they’re close.  
  
          Natalia is sitting just ahead of you, over on the bottom steps of the porch. Amily is helping her pluck her eyebrows, making them sharp, feminine, and arching. Nati was the first of your mouse-girls to show interest in her beauty and femininity, and she definitely spends a lot more time grooming herself than her sisters do. She keeps her long, brown hair smooth and finely brushed at all times, and she always has sultry, black cosmetics to her eyes, courtesy of the eyeliner and mascara Kylie bought her in Tel’Adre. Nati was the first of your mouselings to blossom into the full body of a matured female, and she’s got _by far_ the most weight to her curves. She wears a tiny shirt that bares her midriff and the great cleavage of her hefty breasts, and a tight, sheer pair of yoga pants that leaves little of her heavy, heart-shaped bottom to the imagination. Nati isn’t even fully grown and already she’s a bombshell of a woman – and she knows it. She teases you every chance she gets, whether it be shooting you lustful glares of bedroom eyes or grinding her fat, rounded rump into your crotch. She’s eager for you to finally bed her, but you continue to keep her waiting for now. It’ll happen in good time. There’s a certain age and ripeness you want your daughters to be before you pluck them, and Nati isn’t there yet. But she’s close, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to the day when you fuck her silly and give that fat ass of hers the pounding she so desperately desires.  
  
          But no matter how curvy Natalia is, you don’t play favorites. You’re no more attracted to her than you are to her sisters. You love them all equally, and you’re eager to finally taste each of them, Nati, Ave, and Laya all.  
  
          Though you can’t see them, you know Hannah and Cain are somewhere out by the lake with their mother Kelly, galloping about, getting fresh air and enjoying themselves. You’re not worried for their safety. They know to sprint back at the first sign of trouble, and _Gods_ can they gallop fast.  
  
          Your eyes drift to the cornfield closest to the farmhouse, where you can see Whitney leisurely twisting and yanking ears of corn off of tall stalks, putting them in a wide, woven basket and working at a steady, sweat-less pace. If you hadn’t just eaten lunch two hours ago you might be fantasizing of Whitney’s cornbread, but, no, you’re fantasizing of Whitney herself. It’s been a week since you relocated to this farm, but you still haven’t gotten the chance to breed your dog-woman wife. It’s not from lacking the lust – you’ve been overflowing with it lately – but you’ve got seven wives here and there’s only so much time in the day. Besides, it’s fun to make them desperate for you. _  
  
_           But Whitney’s time has come. It’s no mystery that the better one of your wives serves you then the more interested you are in giving them affection, and Whitney has _certainly_ served you well. She’s gracious, she’s obedient, she’s kind, and she’s considerate. Her life revolves around your family, _her_ family, just as it should. She’s a good wife.  
  
          Today’s the day, and it’s going to happen again and again.  
  
          _“Whitney!”_ you shout. Your voice booms and shatters the peace and tranquility of the farm. Each member of your family drops what they’re doing and looks to you with both obedience and curiosity, and Whitney swiftly drops her basket of corn and hurries over to you. Dutifully, Amily leaves her spot on the porch’s steps to go pick up where Whitney left off with the corn, and Natalia watches enviously from over her shoulder as Whitney quickly ascends past her and comes to stand before you.  
  
          “Inside,” you say to her, and Whitney is right on your heels as you walk through the farmhouse’s door, through the front room, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. You shut the door behind her and flip the lock, and you could swear you heard Whitney make a little gasp at the sound of it. With the door locked, you turn to face her and find her waiting for your next words with what appears to be a unique blend of joy of serving and fear of failing. It’s the first time she’ll be using this bedroom since she gave it to you. She looks terribly nervous, and you can’t really blame her. At long last she has the full, undivided attention of her husband, the man she worships. You imagine she must feel like a devout follower coming face-to-face with her god. How long has it been since you last fucked her? Weeks? _Months?_  
  
          “You’ve been good lately,” you tell her as you pace a circle around her. Her eyes follow you, but she doesn’t turn her head when you’re behind her. She knows better than to do that. She’s the servant, you’re the King. She’s _yours_ to inspect, not the other way around.  
  
          “I’ve—” she pauses to let herself swallow a mouthful of saliva, a product of her anxiety. “—I’ve tried to be as good as I can be,” she says softly. “I . . . I want to be a good doggie, because—”  
  
          “—because good doggies get treats,” you finish for her, smiling. You’re surprised she remembers that. That was one of the first things you told her when you turned her. “And you _have_ been good,” you assure her. “You’ve been a good farmer and an even better cook. That cornbread of yours,” you pause and let out a sharp, trailing whistle. “Good stuff.”  
  
          “My Ma taught me,” Whitney says quietly, almost in a whisper.  
  
          “Then you’re doing her justice,” you tell her.  
  
          After a few rotations around her, you let yourself come to a standstill just behind Whitney, towering over her. “Aren’t you glad I’m here?” you ask her. You put your hand through her hair and scratch your finger just beneath one of her two floppy ears. Her tail begins wagging furiously, _thwip-thwip-thwipping_ across your pants, and her tail’s battering of your crotch tops off the last of the rushing blood needed to give you a painfully hard erection. Even having all of her clothes on, there’s something about a woman utterly devoting herself to you that’s much more arousing than simple nudity.  
  
          “ _Gods,_ yes,” she sighs, though you’re not sure if that response is more the answer to your question or more the reaction to your scratching of her favorite spot.  
  
          “Aren’t you glad to have this family? To have such a fucking _rich_ and _fulfilling_ existence? Tell me, Whitney. Tell me how glad you are.”  
  
          “I’m so glad you’re in my life,” she says, and you know she means it. You can hear it in her voice. Whitney worships you perhaps more than any of your other wives. You did a good job with her, and you did it without a _drop_ of Bimbo Liqueur or succubus milk. You corrupted and broke her all through the will, grit, and determination of your mind. She’s really one of your greatest creations, right next to your children.  
  
          “ _In_ your life?” you parrot her with a tone of annoyance, and you let your scratching finger fall still.  
  
          “ _Are_ my life,” she immediately corrects herself, still looking forward and not turning to you. “You and the kids _are_ my life.”  
  
          “Better,” you nod approvingly. You resume your gentle scratching, and her tail quickly follows suit with its joyful wagging. Like a snake, you slither your other hand down the cut of Whitney’s blouse and glomp it hungrily over one of her pert, furry tits, and she gasps at the intense touch. “Does it bother you, though, knowing that the kids aren’t yours?” you ask as you move your tit-groping hand to her other breast.  
  
          “No, no,” she assures you. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I don’t even think of it like that. The kids _are_ mine. They’re not my blood, but . . . they mean everything to me. Like you said, they . . . they _enrich_ me. I wake up in the morning, and . . . and I’m happy I get to take care of them. Kylie, she’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever known, and Kian, he’s always wanting to help out around the farm, and that boy Cain is fearless, and—”  
  
          —Whitney stops when you move your hand from her ear to her mouth in a gesture that clearly calls for her silence. Then, a moment later, you move the same hand to her chin and gently tilt her head upwards, as far as it’ll go, making her eyes meet yours. “Do you want one?” you ask.  
  
          “Do I . . . want one?”  
  
          “Do you want a child?”  
  
          “If—if you want,” she stammers quietly. Her eyes are wide and engrossed, awestruck by your powerful gaze, and normally you’d find satisfaction in this reaction, but in your raging lust, you only find frustration.  
  
          You shake your head and tighten your grip on her chin. “That’s not what I asked you,” you tell her tersely. “Answer what I asked.”  
  
          “Yes,” she whispers, her brown eyes darting over yours.  
  
          “What? I can’t hear you.”  
  
          “Yes!” she cries out. “Yes, _Gods_ , please, _yes!”  
  
_           In one quick, sudden motion, you back away, put your hands on Whitney’s shoulders, and spin her to face you. When her eyes lock again to yours, you say, “Now, I’m going to ask you one last question, and there’s only one correct answer. Understand?”  
  
          Whitney nods.  
  
          “Do you want me to give _you_ a child . . . or do you want to give _me_ a child?”  
  
          “You,” she says instantly, without any need to think it over. “I want to give it to you.”  
  
          Your lips curl into a grin. You never doubted her.  
  
          You grab Whitney and heave her effortlessly onto the bed, the force of it making her bounce a few times on the thick mattress, and in an instant you’re laying over her, propping yourself up with your arms, casting her in your shadow. She immediately grabs the waistband of her skirt to tug it down, but you’re already lashing out for it with your mind, yanking it out of her hands and down and off of her legs, and then you’re doing the same with her frilly panties. Then Whitney crosses her arms across herself to pull off her blouse, but again you do it yourself, grabbing her blouse with unseen hands and angrily yanking it up her body and off of her head. You’re the one in charge of her nudity, not her, and whether it’s by her consent or not, you’ll denude her whenever you desire, at the very fucking _moment_ you desire it.  
  
          You strip yourself nearly instantaneously, and you lean down and take her into a growling kiss. Though it’s a bit awkward considering her muzzle, Whitney happily returns your affection, draping her arms around your neck as she kisses you back, opening her mouth for you and twirling her long tongue against yours in a dance of equal parts gentle love and burning passion. You ease a bit of your weight down on her, pressing your chest into Whitney’s plush, perky breasts, and her hardened nipples poke into you like iron nubs. Her legs spread open as you kiss her deeper, offering herself to you, and the head of your long cock is hovering just inches from her waiting pussy. You could penetrate her right now if you so desired, but you aren’t quite feeling up for this _lovey-dovey_ missionary style. Though it doesn’t have much reasoning or explanation – there rarely _is_ for these things – there’s an intense anger boiling inside you, and it’s making you want to take Whitney violently. You know she won’t mind, and you wouldn’t much care if she did.  
  
          You rise off of Whitney and flip her onto her stomach, and she astutely gets onto her hands and knees just as she knows you want her to. If you’re going to put puppies in her belly, then it’s only fitting you do it like this. You grab her furry hips and scoot closer to her, till your long, turgid cock rests atop the crack of her tight ass. Then you shift your hands, wrapping one around the base of her tail and bringing the other down hard onto her rump. Her lean butt doesn’t give much of a wiggle from your spank, but you give her another swat, and then another and another, until you’ve spanked her at least a dozen times and you know damn well that the flesh under her dusky-brown fur is burning red from your abusive love. Whitney whines here and there, but she gives no objection to the rough foreplay, and the taut muscles of her ass don’t clench once from any of the spanks. Either the pain is buried under her lust or she’s doing a good job of dutifully ignoring it.  
  
          You grab your stiff cock, which is now incredibly hot to the touch, and you maneuver it under Whitney’s raised ass, ushering it towards your pooch’s pussy. Her inflamed labia is almost completely hidden under her fur, but you don’t need to see it to feel it. It’s an absolute furnace, pouring humid heat over the tip of your sensitive manhood. Whitney’s entire body shudders when you prod your cock against her pussy, wetting your cockhead with her bubbling fem-fluid, but when you see and feel how eager your bitch is for you, you decide that Whitney needs to _earn_ your presence inside her. You pull your hips back, removing your pecker from her, and Whitney looks over her shoulder to you, shooting you a needy, begging gaze.  
  
          “Why don’t you use that muzzle of yours first?” you ask her, but she knows it’s far more of an order than a question.  
  
          She obediently spins around and brings her head to your cock, but you think she senses how submissive you’re wanting her to be, because instead of immediately taking your member into her mouth as she so often has before, Whitney instead brings out her tongue and licks at your two balls, gently lapping at each of them in slow, sensual licks. Her dog-tongue is flat and a bit rough, but it’s long and wet and feels _delightful_ sliding over each of your nuts. She starts licking them firm enough to lift and drop them, hugging them and raising them in warm, wet flesh before letting them gently drop and bounce and sway. It’s just seconds until she’s polished your balls to the point that they’re each shining and dripping with doggie-drool.  
  
          Whitney peers up at you, and when she sees the lust burning behind your gaze, she knows to move on to the main course. She raises her head a bit, leveling herself with your cock, and she sinks her mouth down the entirety of your length, enveloping you from crown to base in an almost startling warmth and wetness. You sigh uncontrollably, and already your prick is beginning to twitch in pleasure. She hasn’t always been skilled at it, but Whitney’s always been the wife who gives the best head. The length of her muzzle is a perfect fit for your prick, and Whitney’s able to rest every inch of your long dong against her similarly long tongue. As good as it may feel, Whitney knows better than to let your member just rest still in her mouth, so she quickly sets on thrusting her muzzle off and onto you, tightly sucking your prick all the way, and she takes care to always keep your cockhead suckled in her mouth. She takes one of her hands and cradles your wet balls as she works, tenderly rolling them in her slender, furry fingers, and she pulls a sudden groan from you when she bravely gives them just the faintest, gentlest squeeze. Again Whitney peers up at you, reading your reaction to see if she displeased you, but she finds no anger in your gaze, and she returns her eyes to your crotch. Then, in a cock-sucking technique you’ve only ever seen Whitney use, she masterfully raises her flexible tongue at wherever the head of your cock is currently resting, shifting in a wave of motion that keeps a constant, careful pressure applied to your sensitive crown. Working you like this, she sucks you off for only so long before you’re quickly at your end.  
  
          Thankfully, you have no qualms over saving your orgasm for Whitney’s pussy to breed her. Though it used to require either a great deal of pleasure or a great deal of willpower to go two rounds back-to-back, that’s not the case anymore. It’s an effortless endeavor now, thanks to Kylie’s Lethicite. With that in mind, you don’t bother warning Whitney of your impending orgasm, and when that familiar burning bliss wracks your core, her eyes snap up to yours in shock when she feels and tastes your seed spurt out and cover her tongue in a thick, salty layer of white. There’s a flash of sadness in her somber eyes, but it disappears as she remembers her place. She probably thinks you played some cruel game on her, misleading her to think you’d breed her only to later bust your nut in her mouth, but thankfully for her, you’ll show her otherwise in just a moment. Disappointed or not, Whitney dutifully swallows your load, noisily gulping down every last drop of white, and when the last of it is gone, she twirls her tongue around your dick while keeping you sheathed in her muzzle, licking you clean of your cum. The tornado of pleasure battering your post-nut pecker makes your knees weak and very nearly buckles them.  
  
          After Whitney takes her mouth from your cock and gives your crown one last lick, you grab her muzzle and make her face you. “Spin back around,” you command her, and at those words, the sadness in her eyes vanishes.  
  
          She happily does as you say and spins to present her ass and pussy to you, and you don’t bother with any final foreplay before lining up your cock with her cunt and easing your hips forward.  
  
          Her soaking pussy gives you no resistance as you push in balls-deep, sheathing nearly every inch of your manhood inside her heat, where your twitching cock is lovingly welcomed and hugged by her warm walls. Her snug cunny squeezes you from every direction, and you stop and sigh again as you let your manhood rest and stay sheathed in the hilt in her sodden depths. She’s by no means the best pussy you can have – that distinction definitely belongs to sweet Kylie – but Whitney is more than hot and snug enough for your tastes, and you’re wise enough to know that it’s not the pussy that matters so much as the girl or woman it’s attached to. They need to know what it means to have you inside them, to know whose pleasure is their priority, and Whitney certainly does. She clenches her moist tunnel around you, applying a bit more pressure to your throbbing cock to please you as best she can, but even so, you still don’t start thrusting.  
  
          Whitney starts to turn to look over her shoulder at you, no doubt to beg you to start fucking her, but you quickly put your hand to the back of her head turn her forward again, forcefully keeping her from facing you.  
  
          “Eyes forward,” you snarl at her. “I’m the sire, you’re the bitch, remember?”  
  
          “Yes,” she whimpers, but it’s not a whimper of sorrow.  
  
          With your dominance asserted, you grab her slender hips and slowly draw your cock back, until only your crown remains snuggled inside her, and you pause for a short moment before you . . . _rock_ into her, crashing your crotch into her ass, violently spearing your cock back into her. Whitney lets out a breathy yelp at the sudden pleasure, but you give her no mercy, and you set out on a fast, ferocious pace, rutting your doggy bitch nice and rough. You shift your hands to her shoulders and pull her towards you in time with each thrust, maximizing the sheer force of the fucking.  
  
          You lean down and put your mouth just beside her ear. “How many men have you ever been with?” you ask her in a whisper, still maintaining a steady rhythm to your thrusting.  
  
          “I . . . I don’t know,” she murmurs, having a hard time finding the breath to speak between her gasps of pleasure. “Three, I think.”  
  
          “Do you wish I was your – _first?”_ you ask, punctuating the last word with an especially forceful thrust. “The one who – _plucked_ _you?_ The one that made you a – _woman?”_  
  
          “Yes,” she whines, still not daring to face you.  
  
          You grin and rear back again. You grab Whitney’s tail by the root and squeeze it tight, and her pussy responds in kind by squeezing you right back. You grab a fistful of her brown hair and pull it hard, whipping her head and forcing her to arch her back. You keep her held like this and use her hair as a leash as you quicken your pace. You’re ruthless and violent with her, uncaring of however uncomfortable she might be while you clap your thighs into her ass and pound her pussy for all she’s worth, and it’s all for the best, anyways, as you can hear her panting like a bitch in heat. She wants exactly what you do. She wants you to dominate her.  
  
          Whitney lowers one of her hands to circle her finger around her needy clit, and though you’re squeezing her tail for your sake, for the echoed clenching of her cunt around your cock, it also has the added effect of working your lover towards her climax. It feels just a bit hotter and wetter inside Whitney now, and the pleasure is too much to endure any longer. You don’t stop thrusting when your burning orgasm floods your core and flushes through your limbs, maintaining a rapid, ass-pounding cadence and giving your bitch all the cock she can take. Whitney climbs her own high just as you do, and you and her join together in throaty, orgasmic moans as your prick begins to twitch and jump, spurting thick ropes of spunk one after the other. You seed your bitch well, pouring your essence into her and slathering her tunnel with white. Your cum flows deep and fills Whitney full, till her womb is swimming with your seed.  
  
          After you’ve thrusted out the last of your load and you and Whitney descend from your highs, the two of you collapse in bed together. Whitney puts her arms around you and hugs you tight, sighing. It’s been a long time since she’s had the opportunity to cuddle her beloved husband. Knowing that she’s been a good doggy for you, you wrap your arms around her and cuddle her back. She deserves it.  
  
          “Maybe next time,” Whitney begins softly, “Do you think . . . we could include Kylie?”  
  
          “And why’s that?” you laugh.  
  
          “I just . . . I bet she’s a good lover. Selfless.”  
  
          “Sophie told you, then?”  
  
          “Hm? No,” Whitney shakes her head, looking confused.  
  
          “Oh. I figured she blabbed about our first night here.”  
  
          Whitney looks up at the ceiling, thinking something over, before looking back to you and shaking her head again. “Come to think of it,” she says, “She hardly ever talks about that sort of thing anymore.”  
  
          “Really? Huh.” Maybe Sophie took that talking-to you gave her to heart?  
  
          You lay with Whitney in the peace and quiet for some time, letting your devoted doggie wife enjoy some private pillow time with you . . . until a girl’s scream from outside the farmhouse pierces the silence.  
  
          You and Whitney are out of bed in a blink, throwing on your clothes and dashing to the door. The two of you storm into the hall just in time to see a convoy burst through the farmhouse door. Amily and Sophie are holding a wailing Kylie up by her arms and hurrying her into the front room, with Alaya following close behind. Kylie’s in labor.  
  
          Whitney darts down the hall after them, but before you can follow suit, you hear a pounding on the cellar door just beside you.  
  
          “Is that Kylie?” Rebecc shouts through the door.  
  
          “Yeah,” you holler back.  
  
          “I can help.”  
  
          “Help how?”  
  
          “I was a midwife in Owca.”  
  
          You look to the floor and give a quick groan as conflicting thoughts spin in a flurry in your mind, but when you hear Kylie let out another cry of agony, your decision is made for you. You flip the deadbolt lock and fling the door open. Rebecc’s white hair is very long and still growing, and she’s fresh, clean-clothed and well-bathed, courtesy of the farmhouse’s plumbing and the clothes and metal tub you graciously allocated her in the cellar – but you don’t waste more than a second taking in the sight of the sheep-girl or the growing pregnant swell in her belly, as there’s another expectant mother who is much more in need of your attention than her.  
  
          You and Rebecc hurry into the front room together, where the others have spread out over a bedroll a familiar blanket, thick and pink and soft, to catch and soak up whatever birthing fluids Kylie happens to expel. They gently lay Kylie atop the blanket, but she has a hard time folding her twitching wings, so Alaya opts to sit behind Kylie and help keep her torso propped up. Amily and Sophie tug down Kylie’s sweatpants and panties – which are both wet from the breaking of her water – and Kylie spreads her legs amazingly wide as the motherly instincts of childbirth begin flooding her mind.  
  
          Kylie’s eyes are closed and her face is twisted in agony, and when a particularly strong contraction hits her, her wings give an intense flap around Alaya behind her, and the gust of air knocks over and shatters a lamp in the far corner of the room. You nod to Whitney to silently command her to take care of the shards before someone hurts themselves, and she hurriedly sets off on doing just that. Rebecc kneels next to Amily beside Kylie and firmly grabs Amily’s shoulder. “Get a pail with water, a washcloth, and a hair tie,” Rebecc orders her, and Amily nods before dashing off to the kitchen. Rebecc then takes Amily’s place beside Kylie and gently grabs your girl’s hand. “Purse your lips, darling,” Rebecc tells her. “Quick, steady breaths. Make a rhythm. You’re in control. Don’t be afraid, Kylie. Be calm and be confident. The pain won’t be as bad.”  
  
          Never quite knowing what to do at times like this, you simply watch carefully from a few feet away, facing Kylie’s open legs, standing at the ready to do whatever could possibly be needed of you. Kylie’s vagina is already dilating and stretching far wider than you’ve ever seen before, looking nothing like that slit of hers you’re accustomed to, and though you don’t see the top of the egg yet, you know that’ll change soon.  
  
          On your left you can see Natalia, Averie, and Kian all hovering by the doorway from the hall, curious to witness childbirth for the first time, but not curious enough to watch from up-close or to watch from any angle where they’ll see between Kylie’s legs.  
  
          Amily arrives with what was asked of her, and Rebecc works quick from there. First she grabs Kylie’s long, platinum-blonde hair and ropes it all into one thick tail by her side, binding it with the hair tie and keeping it well out of the way. Next she dips the washcloth in the pail and wipes up the sweat forming on Kylie’s brow. “When it feels like you should push, do it,” Rebecc tells her. “Your body will tell you what to do, Kylie. You just have to listen to it.”  
  
          “You can do it, baby,” Sophie coos to her daughter, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.  
  
          Kylie tenses as another contraction comes. “Okay, darling,” Rebecc says, “Now, chin down, lean forward, and _push!”_  
  
          Kylie does as she says and bears down, jamming her eyes shut even tighter and letting out a roaring groan as she pushes as hard as she possibly can. You see the top rim of the egg peeking through Kylie’s gaping cunt now, webbed with a sheen of the lubricant of its mother, but the egg is a color far different than the one Kylie came from. Unlike the white egg that hatched her, this egg is darkly purple and speckled with black. A product of your and Kylie’s corruption, maybe? As long as the girl inside is healthy, you could care less about its corrupted blood. When the contractions subside, Rebecc wipes away more sweat from Kylie’s face, and Kylie resumes her shallow breathing as the cycle begins anew.  
  
          They make good time. Kylie pushes the egg further down her birth canal with every set of contractions, and eventually the obscenely large egg is more pushed out than not. Sophie holds out her hands and hovers them between Kylie’s spread legs, and a moment later, a final gush of clear fluids heralds the end of the ordeal, and the large egg slips from its mother with a soft _pop,_ landing safely in its grandmother’s careful hands.  
  
          The egg is about the size of a small watermelon, a bit bigger than the one that brought Kylie, and you honestly don’t have the slightest idea how your girl managed to push something that large out of a hole that little. Like every other harpy birth, there’s not too much of a mess, no afterbirth and no blood. The blanket didn’t end up catching much, just Kylie’s amniotic “water” and her other natural lubricants. If it weren’t for the egg, you couldn’t even tell Kylie just gave birth, as her belly has deflated to its original firm flatness and her vagina has returned to its usual tight slit, both good as new.  
  
          Sophie dries and wipes the egg clean with the long-feathers of her forearm, unfazed by its strange color, and gently pushes it into Kylie’s arms. “Hold it against you, baby,” Sophie tells her. “Keep it warm, but _don’t_ smother it. It has to breathe.”  
  
          You can’t help but cock an eyebrow hearing Sophie give advice on _anything_ , but if there’s one thing she knows, it’s this.  
  
          Sophie, Rebecc, and Amily all watch dopily as Kylie cradles the newest arrival to the family, and even Kian, Ave, and Nati smile warmly, but Alaya’s reaction is a bit more fearful and tempered, still a bit shook up by her beloved sister’s ear-piercing suffering.  
  
          “Look, Daddy,” Kylie says, a bit breathlessly. “I did it.”  
  
          “Yes you did, sweetie,” you nod and smile. Rebecc knowingly leaves Kylie’s side to make room for you, and you kneel beside Kylie and put your hand over hers on the egg. “You know what this means, don’t you?” you ask her. “This egg is your life now. Just like how you kids are my world, now this egg is yours. You’re a mother now, and this egg’s wellbeing is your responsibility. It’s not yours alone, but it _is_ yours. You understand?”  
  
          “I know, Daddy,” she assures you, her chest still heaving from the exertion of childbirth. “I won’t mess up. Promise.”  
  
          You’re not worried.  
  
          It’s a bizarre thought, knowing that the daughter that’ll hatch from this egg will have a father who’s also her grandfather, but again, the shame that thought gives you is nothing compared to the joy and the thrill. The people of Tel’Adre, and the people of your old life, of Ingnam, they’d all call it disgusting. They’d call you a freakish monster, a twisted beast. They can’t look outside that little box that is their reality, they can’t see past their false chart of what is “right” and what is “wrong” . . . but _you_ can, and your family is better for it.


	5. Unconditional Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Father relives a memory from a different view, he shows his eldest son how men in their family sate their urges.

          You open your eyes right as the light of the early sun starts leaking through the crack between the bedroom’s curtains. You made sure to get to bed early last night. You’ve got something very important planned for today. A sort of . . . _coming of age._ _  
  
_           When you flip the blankets down, you’re surprised to find long strands of platinum hair tousled over your chest. Kylie’s head is against your shoulder, and she has you hugged in both of her arms, with one over your waist and the other beneath your neck, and you’re both in the nude, with Kylie’s bare breasts pressed into your side. You slept with her _again_ last night? Damn. You can’t help but feel a little guilty for letting Kylie have the lion’s share of private time with you, but why should you do any different? She’s the wife and daughter that gives you the most joy, comfort, and pleasure. She’s earned her place. Your family isn’t a democracy, it’s a monarchy, and you have every right to choose Kylie as your Queen.  
  
          You very carefully ease Kylie’s head down from your shoulder and lift her arm from your waist. She lets out a deep sigh and shifts gently onto her back, but gives no sign that you’ve disturbed her sleep. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and touch your toes down onto the soft carpet. Yawning, you throw up your arms and jut out your legs, stretching your limbs, forcing the weariness out of your body. After you’ve got yourself feeling wide-awake and refreshed, you turn and look to the other side of the bedroom, beside Kylie. Her egg is within arm’s reach of her side of the bed, resting in a small nest of hay atop a sturdy wooden stand, Whitney’s creation. Sophie had warned her that the egg would grow in size before hatching, so Whitney made sure to fashion a roomy, good-sized nest for it. It’s only been a few days since Kylie birthed the egg, but it’s already noticeably larger than before, and sometimes you swear you can see it pulsing to the tune of the heartbeat of the growing girl inside. There’s a sort of relief that comes with impregnating a harpy, an all-female race. It’s comforting to know for a fact that the unborn child will be a daughter. The way your family is and the way you raise your children, daughters are easier to handle than sons.  
  
          Grateful for her being such a good, fertile mother, you reach out and run your hand lovingly over Kylie’s warm, feathery thigh. She’s an incredible girl, Kylie, in more ways than one. Somehow, even though she’s been an adult for quite some time, she still looks no older than a teenager. She’s still incredibly youthful, still just as much girl as she is woman. It’s hard to believe she still looks the way she does. Her flesh is still smooth and tight, without any trace of age in her face or body. If she were a human in Ingnam, you wouldn’t think she’s a day over nineteen, and she could easily pass as two years younger. It seems the people born in this world, if they have even the _slightest_ taint of corruption in them, they rapidly age into adulthood only to grow older dramatically slower after that. For Kylie’s mother Sophie to look as motherly and middle-aged as she does, with those faint crow’s feet around her eyes and just the slightest sag to her massive breasts, she must be far older than you once thought. She must’ve been an awfully wise woman once, only to have you change her and force her life into having just one purpose: being a mother to your children. You _almost_ feel bad for what you did . . . but, no, it’s better this way. She gave you Kylie, after all.  
  
          To your surprise, Kylie’s slender legs spread unconsciously at your affectionate touch, shifting to each side and revealing her crotch to your gaze. As her legs open, the golden short-feathers shielding her pussy open with them, baring her tight, pink slit to the air, and your eyes immediately catch and linger on it. It’s still stunning, still perfect, looking no less appealing than before she birthed her egg, no less arousing to your eyes, and you already know from experience that it certainly doesn’t feel any different. _Gods,_ you could fuck your girl a _thousand_ _times_ and you’d still _never_ get over the sight of her pussy. You’re addicted to her. It’s only been hours since you were last inside her, but already you need your next fix. You told Kian to meet you at the southmost barn at the crack of dawn, and he’s probably already expecting you . . . but making him wait a few minutes while you get in a good quickie won’t hurt him. Besides, it’ll be good to have that extra pep in your step today. Spent lust makes sharp wits.  
  
          “Daddy . . .” Kylie mumbles, and you peer up at her, but still her eyes are closed and still she’s fast asleep. The way she said it, it wasn’t in a lustful moan like you’d expected, no, not even close. It was almost . . . _childlike._ Curiosity overtakes you, and you crawl back into bed and position yourself over Kylie. You put yourself at eye-level with her and put your open hand on her forehead. After drawing a deep, focusing breath, you gather your consciousness into a telekinetic feeler and bore it through the outer shell of Kylie’s mind, sinking it into her thoughts.  
  
          Gently, you slither your mind deeper into Kylie’s, and you then start to just nebulously feel the emotions that are coloring her dream. Emotions not of lust, but joy, excitement, and wonder. Again, it’s . . . childlike. Having never tried anything like this before, you focus your efforts and try to make out some of the images of Kylie’s dream, but, damn, it’s near-impossible. It’s like you’re trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle of a scrambled picture, or trying to form a sentence with words of a foreign language. These fragmented thoughts aren’t yours, and it’s a struggle to decipher them. So you double down, focusing on catching the thoughts swimming through Kylie’s mind, and sure enough, eventually you begin to piece together images and sounds as a narrated scene comes to form . . .  
  
          . . . I’d never seen Mama so sick. Her face was wet with sweat, she was burning hot to my touch, and she was making these awful, sickly moans and groans that I didn’t like hearing. I was worried for her, but Daddy assured me she’d be fine. “Just a fever,” he said to me, and I felt better to hear it, because Daddy was always right. “I’ll stay and watch her,” Daddy told Mama. I was overjoyed to hear that, but Daddy looked frustrated as he took my hand and walked me down out of the nest.  
  
          “Are you angry?” I asked him, looking up at him with big, curious eyes.  
  
          “No, sweetie,” he answered, smiling as he looked down at me. He was so much taller than I was, and I liked it. I liked it when he stood over me, towering his tall, powerful frame over my short, girlish one, casting me in his cozy shadow. I didn’t ever want to be big like him. “Why would I be angry? I get to have _you_ all day.” After he’d said the last word, he snatched me up off the ground and played pretend like he was a monster gobbling me whole, planting a flurry of kisses all over my face, on my chin, cheeks, and forehead, and I shut my eyes and squealed happily. I was uncontrollably excited by the time he set me down, bouncing on my feet, shaking my hands, wildly flapping my wings. Daddy crouched down and put himself at eye-level with me. “But Daddy’s got a lot he needs to do,” he said as he straightened the waistband of my panty bottoms. “Do you think you can be my little helper today?”  
  
          I nodded furiously, smiling from ear to ear. Daddy had never let me help him with anything before.  
  
          I flicked myself off the ground with my wings and plopped myself down onto his shoulders, and he laughed as I grabbed his head to keep myself steady. He walked me to the center of our camp, but to my surprise, we didn’t stay long, and after Daddy picked up an empty basket and an old-looking lantern, we left our campsite and walked to the entrance of a cave in a red-colored rock formation about ten minutes away. I had never been that far from camp before. I started to feel scared, and my hands tightened on Daddy’s head.  
  
          “Don’t be scared, sweetie,” Daddy told me, sensing my fear. “Daddy’ll keep you safe.”  
  
          It was dark inside the cave, darker than even a moonless night, darker than anything I’d ever seen – or, more aptly, _hadn’t_ seen. I couldn’t see past where the daylight died, which wasn’t far. “I don’t like the dark,” I whined as I gazed into the blackness.  
  
          “Here, sweetie,” Daddy said. He turned a squeaky dial on the lantern, giving it life and making it burn with a bright flame, and he raised it up to me. “Hold me with one hand, and hold that with the other. Got it?”  
  
          “Okay,” I nodded as I took the lantern. It was a little heavy in my hand, but I could hold it.  
  
          “The dark doesn’t like the light,” Daddy told me. “When you hold out that lantern, the dark runs away.”  
  
          I held the lantern out to the end of my arm’s length, and sure enough, its flame cast back the dark, the shadows fleeing from the light.  
  
          “See? You’re the one with the power,” Daddy said. “Don’t be afraid of the dark. Make the dark afraid of _you.”_ _  
  
_           He was right. It was comforting to see the dark flee the power of what I held in my hands. Daddy always knew just what to say, I don’t know how, but he did. The way he spoke to me, I always knew that for as long as I was with him, no harm would ever come to me. That was never once proved wrong.  
  
          I relaxed myself on Daddy’s shoulders as he strode deeper into the cavern, and the further we went, the more of these strange objects began to pop up and appear along the soft, red earth of the corners of the cavern floor. Some were short, others taller, and all had helmets on their heads, some helmets being thin like flat dishes, others thick and bulbous. “What are those, Daddy?” I asked him.  
  
          “They’re mushrooms, sweetie,” he said as he plucked them from the earth with his mind – a sight I’d long been used to seeing – and dropped them into his basket.  
  
          “Why are you taking them?” I asked.  
  
          “Well, those white ones, those are white buttons, and they’re good for eating,” he explained. “The pink-spotted ones, you don’t ever eat those, but I’m going to be using them in some . . . _potions.”_  
  
          “Can I try one of the buttons, Daddy?”  
  
          “Well, no, sweetie,” he said. “They need to be cooked first . . . but, _actually_ . . . hold on.” He stopped in place and levitated one of the white buttons in front of him. He snapped his fingers at it, and a small burst of brightly white flames roasted the mushroom into a toasted brown. “Careful, sweetie, it’s hot,” he warned me as he floated it to my mouth. “Blow on it first.”  
  
          I did as he said, pursing my lips and protruding them as I blew my breath on the mushroom again and again. After the fifth puff, I opened my mouth and took it between my teeth. It was warm and soft, easy to chew. It had a plain, earthy taste to it, but it wasn’t bad, and I swallowed it after just a few munches and immediately wanted more. Daddy always said I was an easy eater. Not picky at all. “More, Daddy?” I asked him.  
  
          “Sure, sweetie,” he said, and he flash-fired a handful of more white buttons before raising them to my waiting mouth, where I promptly blew on them before taking them and munching them. It wasn’t the breakfast I was used to, a meal far different from Mama’s milk, but I ate it happily nonetheless. And they weren’t the first solids I’d ever eaten, anyways. “They’ll taste better with salt,” Daddy told me.  
  
          Daddy gathered more of the mushrooms as I ate. He was quiet for a long time, not uttering a word. He was thinking of something. Even then, as young as I was, I could tell.  
  
          “Kylie, sweetie,” he began as he plucked a slew of mushrooms in one clean stroke. “You want brothers and sisters, don’t you?”  
  
          “Yes!” I cried out. My mouth was partly full, and I was too excited to stop myself from sputtering half-chewed bits of mushrooms as I spoke. I’d always wanted siblings. I often felt lonely when I was little. Daddy was always gone and off somewhere, I don’t know where, and Mama wasn’t always good company. But Mama never had any babies after me, and I didn’t know why, and Daddy never explained it.  
  
          “What if . . . how would you feel about having another mother?” he asked.  
  
          _That_ was a hard thought to comprehend. More than one mother? Mama Sophie was the only mother I’d ever known. Would a new mother be better? I loved Mama with all my heart, but she left a lot to be desired. She never really taught me anything. She fed me and hugged me and was a warm body to sleep besides, yes, but she never made me smarter, not like Daddy always did, and I didn’t truly like talking to her very much. I wondered, would a new Mama be better? “Um . . . I’d like that,” I told him.  
  
          “You would?”  
  
          “Yes.”  
  
          Daddy nodded. That was the answer he wanted to hear. I started daydreaming about what my new mother would look like. Would she look like Mama and I? With golden feathers, talons on her feet, and wings on her back? Or maybe like Daddy? Or maybe something else entirely? Then, as I wondered about that, my mind drifted and I began to wonder about a new Daddy, and _no, no, no,_ I didn’t like that thought, not at all. I could only ever have one Daddy. No one could ever be like him.  
  
          I tapped Daddy’s head. “But I don’t want another Daddy,” I said to him. “I only want you.”  
  
          He chuckled as he looked up at me and patted my fluffy thigh. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he assured me. “I’m the only Daddy you’ll ever have.”  
  
          “Promise?” I asked.  
  
          “Promise,” he said.  
  
          I smiled at him.  
  
          We left the cave not long after that, and Daddy took the lantern from me and snuffed its flame when we were outside. We headed back to camp, where Daddy moved each white button mushroom one by one into a crate by the campfire. When he’d finished that, we walked to the tent just next to the one he sleeps in. I had to get down off his shoulders, but Daddy actually let me come inside with him, and that had me excited. He didn’t often let me go in there. Inside, the tent was crammed to the brim, housing a desk topped with thingies and majiggers that I didn’t know _what_ they did, a series of small shelves all lined with dusty books and old tomes, and a large, heavy trunk, which I could only assume was filled with various trinkets, flasks, and baubles. Daddy picked me up and plopped my little butt onto the trunk. “Stay there, sweetie,” he said, and he kissed my cheek before leaving for his desk.  
  
          He took the pink-spotted mushrooms from the basket and started crushing them in a clay bowl with a little club. A _‘morder and pessle,’_ Daddy had told me they were called, but I couldn’t ever remember how to spell it. My eyes drifted around the tent, gazing at every funny-looking object, and my crinkling nose picked up a lot of strange scents. I got bored before long, and I started daydreaming again, wondering about this and that. I recalled something strange Mama had said the day before, and as I recalled it, I immediately became confused again. So I did what I always did when I felt confused. I asked Daddy.  
  
          “Daddy?” I chirped.  
  
          “Yes, sweetie?” he said, though he kept his eyes on his project.  
  
          “Mama said that, when I’m older, I’ll get to hug you like she does.”  
  
          Daddy paused at that. He turned to me and gave me a strange look. “What do you think she meant?” he asked, only, he didn’t look confused like me. No, he looked . . . _angry._ _  
  
_           “I don’t know,” I shrugged, swinging my legs happily. “You hug me all the time.”  
  
          “When did she say that to you, sweetie?”  
  
          “Yesterday. You were gone.”  
  
          Daddy slowly nodded, but I could see fury burning behind his gray eyes. I was beginning to feel nervous right until he suddenly calmed his gaze and turned back to the bowl of powder before him. “Your mother’s just being silly,” he said, his scowl vanishing. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie.”  
  
          “Okay.”  
  
          Boredom struck me again, and the fact that Daddy had asked me to sit in that spot had completely left my mind. I slipped down and wandered around the tent, getting a closer look at the spines of the books and the labels of the varied bottles and poultices. Daddy always told me to practice my reading whenever I could, so I made it a challenge to myself to read all the words I saw. First I put my forefinger to the biggest book, thick and red, and trailed my finger under each letter on the spine as I slowly and quietly read them aloud. “D . . .  O . . .  M . . . I . . . N . . . A . . . N . . . C . . . E . . . Dom-i-nance. Dominance.”  
  
          Next a thinner book, off-white and stained. “F . . . A . . . T . . . H . . . E . . . R . . . H . . . O . . . O . . . D . . . Fa-ther-hood. Fatherhood.”  
  
          Finally, I put my finger to a tall, corked bottle filled with a golden liquid. “W . . . A . . . R . . . N . . . I . . . N . . . G . . . Warn—”  
  
          _“—Kylie!”_ Daddy shouted, and I whipped my head towards him and pulled back my hand, my wide eyes stricken with fear. “Don’t touch that, sweetie,” he told me as he hurried over to me. “It’s bad for you.” He picked me up and sat me atop his trunk again.  
  
          “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I frowned.  
  
          “It’s alright, sweetie,” he said as he flicked a lock of my platinum hair behind my ear. “Just be careful what you touch in here.” He grabbed my long hair again, and his brow furrowed as he felt the knots and clumps in it. “When was the last time you had a bath in the river?” he asked.  
  
          “I don’t know,” I shrugged again. I truthfully didn’t know the answer. It had been at least a week.  
  
          “Come on then,” he said as he took my hand and ushered me down from the trunk. “Let’s go get you washed.”  
  
          We left the tent together, and Daddy grabbed a bar of soap and a hairbrush from camp before walking me to the river about three minutes away, just east of the nest. The water was mostly still and nearly silent, and there wasn’t much moss or vegetation in, on, or around it. When we got to the edge of the river, Daddy turned to me. “You okay with me washing you?” he asked me as he gently grabbed my chin.  
  
          Mama had always been the one who bathed me – even when all three of us bathed in the river together, it was Mama who always washed me – but still, I didn’t understand why Daddy even bothered asking that, or how I could possibly take issue with him washing me. Gender didn’t mean anything to me then. I knew I was a _“girl”_ and Daddy was a _“boy,”_ but I didn’t know what that really meant beyond the differences of our bodies, and I wouldn’t know for a long time. I was just a child, and Daddy made sure to treat me like one; innocent, chaste, and pure.  
  
          “Mhm,” I hummed in happy approval, nodding and smiling.  
  
          With that, Daddy popped off my bra – which he always insisted I wear despite my still-flat chest – and tugged down my panties. He undressed himself, as well, and he set the hairbrush atop a tall rock before walking with me to the water. Daddy waded straight in, but I stopped and dipped my talons in first. It was cold, and my wings fluttered at the feel of it.  
  
          “Come on, sweetie,” Daddy said, beckoning for me with his arms. “The water will feel warmer when you’re in it.”  
  
          I mustered my courage and walked forth, letting the water rise around me, up to my waist. A shiver crawled up my back, but sure enough, the water soon felt far less cold than it did at first, and I could stay in it without discomfort. Daddy started running the bar of soap over the short-feathers of my shoulders, and I turned my head up at him. “I can do it, Daddy,” I said, and he let me take the soap from him.  
  
          I started scrubbing myself, first my shoulders and then my flat belly, and I stuck my tongue out as I focused as hard as I could. I was eager to show Daddy that I could wash myself, but my eagerness did not make up for my childlike lack of coordination, and my hand was slow and clumsy. I would’ve taken half an hour to clean myself. Mama had always done it, and I still wasn’t any good at it. Daddy wordlessly took the soap from me and started scrubbing me down himself, his face holding a stern expression.  
  
          I failed him. Daddy had spent all morning with me and I couldn’t even do for him this _simplest_ of tasks. I started crying. It was a soft cry. I whimpered and sniffled as the hot tears ran down my cheeks, one after the other, until my eyes were puffy and my face was wet. Why did I always have to cry? The tears just flowed right away, always. Scrape my knee, cry. Have a nightmare, cry. Mess up, cry. It was always my first instinct, and I hated it.  
  
          “Why are you crying, Kylie?” Daddy asked me with a tired sigh. He didn’t like it when I cried, and that made me cry harder.  
  
          _“Because—I’m—bad,”_ I sobbed hysterically, drawing quick, weeping breaths between each word.  
  
          “No, you’re not,” he assured me softly. “You’re fine, sweetie. You’re still little. You’ll get good at it. Open your legs a bit.”  
  
          I did as he asked, and my wings fluttered again as he gave my crotch a brief, chaste scrub. He bathed me quickly and efficiently, scrubbing down every nook and cranny, the scruff of my neck, my armpits, the crack of my bum. He washed me with both a fatherly gentleness and a firm thoroughness that only Daddy could manage, and it only took him a couple minutes to scrub me clean. After he’d washed me, he eased my head down and dunked my long, messy hair into the water until it was good and soaked. When it was, he picked me up out of the water and held me close, and I locked my legs around his waist and buried my face in his shoulder as I cried and cried. Daddy waded out of the river, lovingly patting my back all the way, and he kept me held against his chest as he sat down and rested his back against the tall rock he’d set the hairbrush atop.  
  
          _“Shh,”_ Daddy hushed me as he starting wringing out my hair with his hands, urging heavy drops of water to pitter-patter onto the red earth. After he’d gotten it a good amount dryer, he grabbed the brush from the rock and started running it through my hair, slow and gentle, untangling the knots one by one. _“Shh,”_ he hushed me again. “It’s alright, sweetie. You’re alright.”  
  
          I managed to stop sobbing, but the tears still came. “Are you angry?” I asked him, my face still buried in his shoulder.  
  
          Daddy set down the brush and shifted me in his arms, so that he cradled me like a baby and we faced each other.  
  
          “Kylie, listen to me,” he said as he stared into my eyes, unblinking. “I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to remember it for as long as you live. I want you to remember it when you’re awake, and I want you to remember it when you’re asleep. Okay?”  
  
          “Okay,” I sniffled, fighting back the tears.  
  
          “I get angry a lot, I do,” he began, “You see me get angry at your mother a lot, for one. But, Kylie, I want you to remember this: I will _never, ever_ be angry at you. You’re my baby. You’re _everything_ to me. You’ll _always be_ everything to me.” Daddy’s jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. He looked from me to the river and nodded to it. “You see that river, Kylie? I’d turn it to _dust_ for you,” he growled, and then he looked back to me. “I’d break this world _in half_ for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Kylie. _Nothing._ You understand?” _  
  
_           I nodded again. That’s all I ever did, but it was always appropriate, because Daddy was always right, and he always _said_ everything right.  
  
          My tears had stopped then. “I love you, Daddy,” I said to him, losing myself in his gray, steely gaze.  
  
          He sighed. The tenseness left his flesh and a softness came to his eyes. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I love you too, princess,” he said. He lifted me and held me against his chest again, nuzzling his head against mine. “And I always will.”  
  
          We rested there in silence, holding each other, dripping water onto the earth. Nude and wet, father and daughter, embracing with love, affection, and devotion, like only a man and his child could.  
  
          I’ll never forget it.  
  
          . . . The dream is turning blurry. Kylie’s narration is being drowned out. Your concentration is wavering, and your head is pounding from the exertion. As much as you wish you could keep reliving this memory with Kylie, to live through the rest of that day again, you can’t bear the fatigue of projecting your mind into hers any longer. The pain’s too much to endure. Carefully, so as not to scatter any of her thoughts and disturb her dream, you pull back and withdraw your mind from hers. When you’re back in your own head, you discover a trickling feeling under your nose. You wipe your hand against it and find red on your fingers. Blood. A mark of over-exerting yourself. Another few minutes in Kylie’s mind and you’d be bleeding from the eyes, ears, and mouth, as well.  
  
          You feel another trickle running down your cheek. It isn’t blood.  
  
          You shift and sit on the edge of the bed again and wipe away the lone tear. Gods, it’s . . . _conflicting._ Though you greatly enjoy being intimate with her, a part of you still wishes Kylie could’ve stayed a child forever. There was something special about that relationship you had with her, when it was still innocent, when she was still young. Yet she’ll never be that again, and there’ll never be a tougher pill to swallow than that. But . . . things change. The sun rises only to later fall, and the heat of the summer comes only for the cold of the winter to later take its place. Childhood begets adulthood. Life begets death. Kylie may not be little anymore, but just as you told her on that day so very long ago, for as long as you and her still live, she’ll be everything to you. She and all her siblings.  
  
          “Daddy?” Kylie whispers.  
  
          You turn to face her. Her eyes are open at last, half-lidded and a bit sleepy, but open. She’s laying on her side, facing you, smiling.  
  
          “Have a good dream?” you ask her with a knowing grin.  
  
          She nods.  
  
          “What did you dream of?” you ask.  
  
          She doesn’t answer at first. Her smile widens, and she whispers, “The best day of my life.”  
  
          You climb over Kylie in a blaze of passion and wordlessly put your lips against hers, and she accepts your kiss happily, draping her arms over your neck and opening her mouth for your tongue, reciprocating your love. She greets your tongue with her own, swirling and twirling them as your lips mingle and dance, until each of your tongues are layered with saliva not wholly their own. Kylie opens her long legs and locks them around your hips, and she reaches down to your crotch and wraps her soft hand around the shaft of your stiffening cock, giving you a few slow pumps, but you break your kiss and shake your head at her. “No,” you tell her. “This isn’t for me.”  
  
          She looks confused by your words, but that look leaves her when you shed her legs from your hips and shimmy down and lower your head down between her thighs. You bring your hand to her muff and pet her soft crotch-feathers, goading them into spreading for you, and they soon do, revealing the treasure of the glittering, pink slit that hides beneath. You spread open her slit with your middle and forefinger, and her cunt is hot and sticky to your touch. You brush two fingers of your other hand against your tongue, getting them good and wet for your daughter’s pussy, before you lower them and run them up and down her moistening gash, and it doesn’t take much teasing before that tight hole on the bottom of her slit starts bubbling with her clear fluids, the nectar of a woman. Kylie mewls sweetly and cups her breasts in her hands as you pet her pussy, but she raises a hand and takes her knuckles between her teeth with a blissful squeal when you give her pink button a quick flick of your finger. You puff hot breaths over her soaked, needy cunt, but you don’t yet put your open mouth onto her. You want her to tell you to do it.  
  
          “Do you want me to use my tongue?” you ask her.  
  
          “Yes,” Kylie whimpers.  
  
          “Say it, sweetie,” you tell her as you lock your eyes with hers. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”  
  
          “Lick it, Daddy,” she begs you. _“Please.”_ _  
  
_           You won’t tease her any longer. It’s not often you concern yourself with the pleasure of your wives, but Kylie deserves this.  
  
          You keep Kylie’s slit spread as you finally plant your open mouth onto her and jut your tongue forward. You brush your hot tongue against her cunt in long licks, lazy and languid. Though you take your time easing yourself into lovingly devouring your precious girl, Kylie’s mewling has already shifted into deep, breathy moans that float from her full lips. You lap at her soaked slit from tunnel to clit, occasionally stopping to give her little button a single lick, which prompts the muscles of Kylie’s legs to visibly lock and spasm. You dive your tongue into her, forcing her tight tunnel to widen around you. Her seeping wetness soaks your tongue, making it thick and heavy with her feminine essence. She’s salty and acidic on your tongue, strong and nearly sour. It’s a healthy taste, a taste that’s not wholly pleasant and yet utterly addicting.  
  
          “Does it feel good, sweetie?” you ask her in a brief moment where you don’t have your tongue stuffed in her delicious muff, still keeping your eyes trained on your girl’s cunt.  
  
          “Yes,” Kylie moans.  
  
          You don’t spend much time with your tongue inside your wives, considering they’re all perfectly capable of getting off without it, but it’s nice to remind yourself how a woman tastes every now and then.  
  
          “My clit, Daddy,” she whispers. “More.”  
  
          You obey her and refocus your efforts. You press the flat of your tongue firm over her pink clit, bathing the little pleasure buzzer in your tongue’s heat and moisture. Kylie’s slender legs lock again as you push an intense pleasure through her, and her back arches as her hands shoot down and grab your face. She’s nearing the top of her mountain. You dart your tongue over her in a frenzy, worshipping her quivering pussy rabidly and fervently, alternating between diving into her tunnel and licking Kylie as deep as you can reach to flicking it over her clit and giving her enough pleasure to blind her. She keeps your face gripped in her hands as she keels forward and pushes her crotch desperately into you, as if she can somehow get your tongue deeper inside her, and though it’s no use, it certainly isn’t from any lack of your trying. Her long hair drapes over her face as she bites her bottom lip, and her great wings flap hard enough to nip your ears with strong gusts of air.  
  
          “Daddy, I’m—” she pauses when a moan steals the breath from her lungs. “—I’m cumming.”  
  
          You don’t make the mistake of taking your tongue from her cunt to acknowledge her. You shift your hands, thrusting two wet fingers into her tight cunt with one hand and glomping onto one of her two perky breasts with the other, and you start twirling your tongue against her clitoris right as Kylie hits her high. Her wings extend to full breadth in a final gust of air, shedding more than a few golden feathers as the two tips of her wings touch the ceiling. Her gushing pussy wets your hand down past your knuckles, and you can feel her pelvic muscles rhythmically clench and squeeze your fingers as her orgasm wracks her flesh with pleasure and bliss.  
  
          Kylie’s body gives out from under her when her orgasm ends. She collapses, gasping for air, her chest heaving. You lean forward and gently cup Kylie’s cheek as you kiss her. “Go back to sleep, sweetie,” you tell her. “It’s still early. Someone’ll have breakfast ready in a few hours.”  
  
          You pull the covers back over her and tuck them under her chin, but before you can roll out of bed, Kylie leans forward and captures your lips in another kiss, a deep one this time. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispers after she breaks the kiss, looking into your eyes.  
  
          “I love you too, princess,” you whisper back.  
  
          You get down onto your feet and hurriedly clothe yourself from the dresser. Kian’s waiting for you, and you need to get going. But before you do, you make a stop by the nest next to Kylie’s side of the bed. You run your hand over the egg’s smooth shell, and you lean down and kiss the top of it. Sometime soon, sooner than you know it, you’ll be greeting the girl inside there and welcoming her to this world. And what a wild world it is.  
  
          You leave the room and close it gently behind you, but you otherwise don’t have to bother being quiet as you make your way to the front door. Whitney’s already finished furnishing and walling a couple homes out of the old barns, and you’ve already gone and divided your family amongst them, housing Amily and your mouselings into one and Sophie, Kylie, and Vapula into the other. Kelly and Cain and Hannah already had their own. Rebecc still sleeps in the farmhouse cellar, and she probably prefers it down there, anyways. You don’t keep her locked down there during the day. It’s not bad living here, not for anyone. You can finally say you’re proud of the home you’ve given your family. No one’s starving, your wives aren’t lacking affection, your children aren’t lacking guidance, and now everyone has a roof over their heads, and with some breathing room, no less.  
  
          You’ve spent too many lazy days on the farm since you came, and you’ve been starting to feel a little cooped up and stir-crazy, but now, at last, you’re getting back into the swing of things. A hunter needs to hunt, and there are always prey waiting to be predated upon. And the hunter doesn’t hunt alone today. Today, he takes his cub with him. You’re going to show Kian just how a man of this family gets on in this world.  
  
          It’s twilight outside, an odd blend of darkness and daylight, with the fledgling sun still working its way above the horizon. The air is crisp and clean, easy to breathe, and you feel light on your feet. You raise up your legs one at a time, raising them to your hip-level, loosening up. You take a long breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs, and you shift your stance, readying yourself to run. Then you take off a sprint down the dirt path, running _fast_ , faster than you’ve ran in weeks. The air whips past you, and you’re skidding to a smooth stop at the door to the southmost barn in just five seconds. You’ve still got it.  
  
          The interior of the barn is dingy and unfurnished. Inside, Kian is dressed in a shirt and shorts, and he’s perforating a stick-and-strawbag dummy with a hundred swift stabs of his two iron daggers, grunting as he attacks it, and every strike seems to land right where he wants it to. He’s a natural with it. He’s a quick learner, which seems to be a recurring trait in your children. He’s taller every time you see him, but this is likely the apex of his height. He must be over six feet now, only an inch or two shorter than Kylie and far taller than his mother Amily. Kian’s lean and fit, but he has a good bit of muscles to his limbs, with firm biceps and pecs. He’s strong, you can see it in the way the dummy shakes from his strikes, and he’s fast, his daggers being blurs of motion whenever he lashes out with them.  
  
          “Kian,” you call out. He doesn’t hear you. He’s working up a good sweat, his shaggy, brown hair shaking as his head whips back and forth. His grunts are getting louder, his snubbed, mouse-nose twitching, his long tail thrashing from side to side. His scowl hardens as his strikes get angrier and angrier, his daggers discharging the anger his corruption is always building within him. He doesn’t know quite how to control the taint in his blood, the taint he inherited from you, but he will, in time. _“Kian!”_ you shout.  
  
          He stops and turns to you. “Hey,” he says breathlessly as his arms fall to his sides.  
  
          “Sorry to keep you waiting,” you smile at him. “Was, uh . . . reliving a memory. You feel good with those?” you ask him, your eyes lingering on his daggers.  
  
          “Yeah,” he nods, panting for breath. He raises one of the daggers and rotates it before him. “I could do some real damage with ‘em now, Dad,” he says as he admires the blade.  
  
          You shake your head. “Stabbing a dummy and stabbing a living thing aren’t the same, Kian. There’s different . . . _emotions_ at play.” You stride over to the dummy and push your finger into the holes of the sack of its torso. “It’s a whole different game, cutting a person.” You turn to Kian and give him a grave look. “There’s no _straw_ inside a person, Kian.”  
  
          “I know, Dad,” he says snootily, a bit of arrogance coloring his voice.  
  
          “No, you don’t, Kian. It’s . . . _harrowing,_ you know, when you see for the first time what we’re really made of. _Blood_ and _flesh_ and _guts._ You have to be ready to see it, or it’ll change you when you do.”  
  
          Kian’s listening keenly, his gray eyes fixed to yours. He respects you, and he knows to listen when you speak. But more than he respects you, he’s _awed_ by you. The seemingly infinite knowledge and experience you have to offer him, it silences him, it shuts his mouth whenever you open yours. That’s good. Good for him, that is. He’ll be wiser for it.  
  
          “I want you to stab me,” you tell him with a curt nod, and his eyes widen a bit when he hears it.  
  
          “What?”  
  
          “Stab me.” You put your finger against your stomach. “Right here. Right in the belly.”  
  
          “Is . . . is this a joke?” he mutters, looking to your stomach.  
  
          Your eyes turn cold and icy. “No,” you utter. “Do it.”  
  
          Slowly, he comes towards you. He looks to your eyes one last time, but when he finds your iron gaze unchanged, he looks to your belly and rears back his right hand, clutching tighter on the hilt of his dagger. Then, finally, his face tightens as he thrusts his hand forward . . . but the blade of his dagger finds nothing, as you’ve shifted out of its path. You tap him on his shoulder, and he turns to you with awe in his eyes. “How’d you do that?” he asks.  
  
          “Again,” you tell him. “Do it again.”  
  
          He turns to you and stabs at you again, but again you flow around him, and this time you grab his right arm from behind and pin it upwards, and you twist his wrist until the pain’s too much to keep him from crying out and dropping his dagger.  
  
          “How are you doing that?” he asks you as you release him and step away from him.  
  
          “The thing about this world, Kian, is that there’s always going to be someone faster than you. Someone _stronger_ than you. Always. You have to know to pick your targets.”  
  
          “Okay,” he nods. “Yeah, I understand.”  
  
          “Now cut the palm of your hand.”  
  
          Kian doesn’t question you this time. He slips one of his daggers into its sheath along his belt before grabbing the other one from the ground and holding it against his empty palm. He draws a hissing breath as he presses the blade into his palm and runs it across it, rending his flesh in two, and blood promptly pours outwards, darkening his purple fur.  
  
          “See that? See how quick it spreads?” you ask him as you cup the bottom of his hand with one of your own, and both of you watch intently as his short fur flushes with crimson. “You need to get used to that. Seeing your own blood. If you can’t deal with that, you’re not going to be able to do much in this world.”  
  
          He nods again. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I got it. I’m good.”  
  
          “Good. Now hold still.”  
  
          You hover the fingers of your other hand over Kian’s palm, and your tensed mouth twitches as your eyes focus on his wound. A moment later, his severed flesh shifts back into place and begins slowly sewing itself whole. _“This . . .”_ you utter as his fur sheds the stain of his blood and regains its natural purple. “I can’t ever teach you.”  
  
          When there’s no sign of any wound on Kian’s hand, you release it and let his arm fall to his side. You snatch the dagger from his hands with your mind and wipe it clean of his blood against the dummy. “Kian,” you say as you slip his dagger into his holster on his belt. “We’re not murderers. You might think I’m a cold-blooded bastard, but I don’t spill blood unless it’s in self-defense.” You grab him by the scruff of his neck and gaze into his eyes. “And you won’t either. Are we clear?”  
  
          “Yeah,” he says softly. “We’re clear.”  
  
          “Good.” You pat the back of his neck “Now come on. We’re leaving.”  
  
          “Leaving?” he asks as you leave his side and head for the door. “Where are we going?”  
  
          “The forest.”  
  
          . . .  
  
          “Lesson number one:” you begin, “ _Listen._ Listen to the grass crinkle beneath your feet. Listen to the leaves of the trees rustle and shake, listen to the birds tweet and chirp. It’s the song of the forest. Memorize it. That way, when you hear a sound _foreign_ to the song . . . you’ll know it.”  
  
          You and Kian are walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the forest. You’re lazily looking from one side to the other, enjoying the sights of the tall grass and the even taller trees, enjoying the smells of flowers and honeys, but Kian’s head is whipping to and fro, anxiously watching for any and every possible twitch of movement. His hands are clutched on the hilts of his daggers, ready to draw them at a moment’s notice. You stifle a chuckle. It’s his first time. He’ll get better at it. And it won’t be the only cherry he’s popping today.  
  
          “Relax,” you tell him. “You don’t have to be an emotional wreck to be safe, Kian.”  
  
          “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, swallowing a nervous gulp. “Sorry.”  
  
          “Enjoy yourself!” you laugh as you throw up your arms. “Don’t ever be afraid to explore, Kian. We’re hunters. Exploring is what we do. How else are we supposed to find our prey?”  
  
          He turns to you with his brows knitted. _“‘Prey?’”_  
  
          “Kian, your mothers and I didn’t exactly meet at some watering hole and decide we wanted to be together. I found them and I made them mine. I was the hunter . . . and they were my prey. It wasn’t consensual, not at first, not with any of them. I had to be forceful before they realized they wanted to be with me.” You stop and grab Kian’s shoulder, turning him to you. “Kian, I’m going to tell you what I told Kylie long ago. This world,” you pause to sweep your eyes on the towering trees around you, before bringing them back to Kian’s gaze, “I made it mine . . . to make it yours. I’m the King. This land is mine. The peasants may not know it yet, but it _is_ mine. Now, because it’s the King’s land, his children, his Princes and Princesses, that makes the land _theirs,_ too. It’s theirs to use how they see fit. Is this all making sense to you?”  
  
          “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks, Dad. That . . . means a lot.”  
  
          Your lips tighten as a swell of emotion plucks at your heart. “No,” you shake your head. “Don’t thank me,” you tell him, running your hand along the side of his jaw. “You’re my boy. I’m thankful for _you._ Now come on.” You turn and stride from him. “Let’s get you a girl.”  
  
          “A—a girl?” he stammers. “What—what do you mean, _‘get me a girl?’”_ he asks as he jogs to catch up with you.  
  
          “Why do you think I told you all that? You’re like me, Kian. You’re a hunter. That’s why we’re here. It’s time for you to catch your first prey. I’m sorry I made you wait as long as I did, but I wanted you to be ready. Thinking back, I probably should have just paid some slut to stay at the farm for a bit for you to dip yourself in whenever you wanted to,” you chuckle. “Anything’s better than the hand, don’t you think?” you ask him with a smile.  
  
          Kian stays quiet. He’s probably blushing beneath his fur from your mentioning of him touching himself. As confident as he is, he’s still got a bit of timidity to him. It’s nothing like Alaya’s, but it’s there.  
  
          A sound prompts you to grab Kian and stop him in his tracks. “Hear that?” you ask in a whisper.  
  
          “No,” he whispers back.  
  
          _“Listen.”_ _  
  
_           You both fall silent, and soon enough, Kian’s ears twitch as he hears what you do, coming past the bushes of the tree-line just east of you: two voices, both feminine, one noticeably younger than the other, chirping, chatting, and occasionally laughing. Goblins, sounds like. You lower yourself to a crouch and creep towards the source of the voices, and Kian follows suit. The two of you weave through the bushes nearly silently, one slow step at a time, until you’re both peeking at a clearing through the edge of the shrub.  
  
          Sure enough, in the clearing, you discover two goblin women sitting on a mossy log. It’s a mother and daughter by the looks of it, both with green skin, greener eyes, and long, blue hair. The mother in particular is heavily curvaceous, seated atop a plump, fat bottom, with her heavy breasts giving her top a hefty swell, and the daughter isn’t much less curvy. They’re both applying vibrant purple lipstick to each other’s lips as they gab about this and that, not needing a mirror for as long as they can just groom in pairs. The mother has a half-dozen ring piercings on her face, on her nose, her mouth, and her ears, but the daughter’s only piercing is a single stud just below her full lips. They’re marks of sexual experience, you know that much, but you aren’t quite sure how they’re calculated or what exactly each piercing means. But this is perfect. This couldn’t be a better find.  
  
          “See their belts?” you whisper to Kian. “The potions and needles? Those are their weapons, more so than their daggers. They’ll dope you up until the only thing on your mind is that cunt between their legs. That’s the nice thing about goblins. It won’t quite be the end of the world if they get the upper hand on you. That’s why they’re good for young hunters like you. If there’s any race to have to submit to for an hour, it’s them.”  
  
          “Why?” Kian asks.  
  
          “Well, because you both want the same thing, more or less. The only difference is how it’ll be done.”  
  
          As the two of you speak, the goblins stand to their feet – showing their short stature – and give each other a hug and a kiss on the lips before parting ways. The mother heads off down a pathway through the grass to the west, but the daughter stops when a white jaybird flies down and perches on a low-hanging branch just above her.  
  
          “Go to her,” you whisper.  
  
          Kian turns to you. “And do _what?”_ he asks, furrowing his brows.  
  
          “Confront her. Tell her you want her. She won’t resist you. Lure her.”  
  
          “Are—are you sure?”  
  
          _“Go!”_ you growl, shoving his back.  
  
          Kian stands to his feet and starts forward, emerging from the bushes. The goblin girl turns and faces him when she hears him, and she smiles at the sight of him. Kian stands tall and proud, with only one hand resting on one of his two daggers.  
  
          “Hey, cutie,” she says as she saunters over to him, her voice high and light and gentle. Her wide, womanly hips sway as she walks to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mouse-boy before.”  
  
          Kian shakes his head. “I’m not a boy,” he tells her confidently, his voice markedly lower than hers.  
  
          “No, you’re right,” she says as she puts her hand on his chest, admiring the tight tone of his flesh through his shirt. “You’re a man.” Her other hand finds its way to Kian’s shapely ass, and she gives a cute, joyful squeal when she discovers it to be as delightful as it is.  
  
          After a moment of letting the girl grope him, Kian can’t help but return the favor by grabbing her right back and groping her fat ass through her sheer pants, squeezing her tight, sinking his furry fingers deep into her pliant flesh. Kian gets heated and rowdy before long, utterly losing his composure like only a young man groping his first woman could. He gives the goblin girl’s bum a series of sharp, greedy spanks before slipping his hand beneath her pants, eager to touch a woman’s cunt for the first time, but the smiling girl clearly takes no issue with it. “You’ve got such pretty gray eyes, cutie,” she coos to him, giggling. “So . . . _striking_ and _piercing._ Who’d you get them from?”  
  
          “My father,” Kian answers absent-mindedly, looking somewhat preoccupied with the hot flesh in his hands.  
  
          “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes like those,” the girl says. “He must be a special man.”  
  
          “You have no idea,” Kian utters.  
  
          “What’s your name, cutie?” she asks.  
  
          “Kian,” he says, his eyes affixed to the cleavage bared by her low-cut top.  
  
          _“‘Kian,’_ ooh, that’s so . . . _exotic._ Your daddy give you that name?”  
  
          “Yeah.”  
  
          “It’s a good name. Mine’s Emmie. So, you wanna have some fun?”  
  
          “Yes.”  
  
          Emmie moves her hand from Kian’s ass to one of the syringes on her belt, and when she does, you noisily dart forward from the bushes, shaking your head when Emmie looks to you. “No, no,” you say to her, a smug grin curling around your lips. “There won’t be any of that.”  
  
          Not at all to your surprise, Emmie recognizes you right away, your infamous visage and your unmistakable stature. Her eyes widen when she sees you, and she pushes off of Kian’s chest and turns and runs, but you throw forth your hand as you lash out at her with your mind and lasso her feet, tripping her onto the grass. “What’s wrong?” you ask her with a hearty, near-manic laugh. “Why are you running, Emmie? You seemed _so eager_ a moment ago.” You yank back on your invisible leash, dragging Emmie across the grass, dirtying her clothes with green stains. “You’re not teasing my boy like that without finishing the job. Grab her, Kian.”  
  
          Kian kneels over Emmie’s thick legs, pinning her to the earth.  
  
          “O—Okay, okay,” Emmie stammers. “I’ll—I’ll do what you want. Just, please, don’t . . . don’t do anything crazy or—”  
  
          “—Tell her to shut up,” you growl to Kian as you crouch on the other side of the goblin girl.  
  
          Kian takes a fistful of Emmie’s blue hair and yanks on it, forcing her head back. _“Stop talking,”_ he snarls into her ear, and his words force meekness into Emmie’s eyes. Well done. He’s a natural. Just like his old man.  
  
          “Pull her pants down,” you tell him.  
  
          Kian grabs the waistband of her pants and yanks them down, freeing the two green orbs of Emmie’s bubble butt. No panties. Figures. Kian immediately fills his hands with her ass, growling as he squeezes and gropes her, flushing with the hungers and desires of a man. If Kian’s feeling anything like what you felt the first time you took a woman like this – and you know he is – then he has zero control over himself right now. There’s no going back from here. It would take a knife to his heart to stop him now.  
  
          “Open her cunt,” you tell him. “Spread her lips with your fingers.”  
  
          Kian does as you say, parting the heavy cheeks of Emmie’s ass and spreading open her pink pussy with his thumbs. Her cunt is shining with moisture, but that doesn’t surprise you. A goblin cunt is always sodden wet, as far as you know. Lustful little sluts. But your eyes are disappointed to find that she’s lacking her hymen. You were hoping you could have Kian’s first victim be a virgin, but alas, this’ll have to do.  
  
          “She’s not a virgin. She’d have a hymen, there, on her tunnel, if she did,” you explain to him. “But that’s fine. She’s got another hole,” you muse as your eyes switch to the puckered star resting above her pussy. “And I’ve a feeling that one hasn’t been used.” You turn to Kian and grab his jaw, forcing him out of his rape-ready trance, making his eyes meet yours. “She _wants_ you to use her cunt, Kian,” you tell him. “Lesson number two: do what they _don’t_ want you to do.”  
  
          “No, no, no,” Emmie says in a flurry, wriggling beneath Kian’s knees, shaking her head. “Not there, please,” she begs. She reaches forward with her arms and tries to crawl out from under Kian, but without looking to her, you silently grab her arms with your mind and pull them to her back, where you keep them fastened tight with an unseen rope.  
  
          “I thought you told her not to talk,” you utter coldly, having never taken your eyes from Kian’s.  
  
          Kian leans forward onto Emmie, pressing all of his weight down on her, and he locks his muscled forearm under her throat as he again puts his mouth next to her ear. “This’ll hurt a lot more if you fight me,” he growls at her. “So be a good girl and behave, alright?”  
  
          “Okay,” Emmie grunts, struggling to draw air past Kian’s arm.  
  
          When Kian releases her and rears back, you do him the favor of ripping away Emmie’s shirt and tugging her pants down off her feet, again not with your physical arms. Kian gives her ass a few more swats, giving it a red imprint of his hand as it jiggles, before unbuckling his belt and pulling down his shorts and underpants. Though you’re watching him closely, there’s no shame or shyness in his eyes as he grabs his human-like cock. He’s far past that point now. There’s only a frenzied lust in his gaze. He spits on his sizably lengthy prick and gives himself a few jerking pumps, getting himself _just_ lubricated enough to take the hole that awaits him. After he readies himself, he holds his dick by the base as he eases his hips forward, guiding himself to Emmie’s crinkled pucker. Emmie couldn’t squirm now if she wanted to, with Kian pinning her bottom half beneath him and you pinning her arms against her back, and she has no way to struggle as Kian forcefully pushes his member into her. Emmie’s clenching asshole can’t keep Kian’s cock at bay, and she cries out in pain as her tightened flesh gives way around him. First his thick crown slips into her ass, and inch by inch he then forces the rest of himself into her, gasping as his penis is sheathed in an incredibly hot hole, like nothing he’s ever once felt before.  
  
          You can see the muscles of Emmie’s back and butt tighten and clench from the discomfort and pain, and you know full well that her rectum is doing the same around Kian’s cock. “Don’t hold back,” you say to him. “You’re the hunter. She’s the prey. _Devour her,”_ you snarl.  
  
          Though you aren’t sure if your boy heard you over his lust, he nonetheless wastes no time before drawing back his prick, which now twitches in pleasure, until only his cockhead is still sheathed and gripped in her pucker, and when it is, he slams himself back in, rocking Emmie’s body, forcing her round rump to bounce from his thrust. Emmie throws her head back and cries out again, but Kian cares not, and he starts hammering himself into her, abusing her asshole.  
  
          Kian works himself into a good, violent ass-pounding rhythm, grunting and growling as he rapes the little goblin girl, and you simply grin and watch. Your trousers feel ready to burst from your lust for already the second time in this young day, and you’re tempted to use Emmie’s mouth . . . but no, this isn’t the time. This is Kian’s moment, not yours. Besides, you’ve got all the time in the world to double-team some wanton slut with Kian on some later day.  
  
          “Talk to her,” you encourage him, nodding. “Mock her.”  
  
          “Little slut like you can’t – _nngh_ – take it up the ass?” Kian asks her with a laugh, and you laugh with him. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll – _rrgh_ – help you get better.”  
  
          Not bad, not bad at all.  
  
          Emmie’s eyes are watering, but it’s not from sorrow, as they’re half-lidded and lustful, and her open mouth is breathing heady, conflicted moans. She’s in pain, but she’s also enjoying herself, there’s no doubt about it. Kian slumps his weight down onto her again, pinning her firmer than before, and he lies on her lazily as he moves only his hips, taking his bitch with deep, long thrusts, battering the girl’s poor bum with all the force and violence he can muster, building up to that moment he’ll be spurting his spunk deep into his bitch’s bowels for the very first time. Kian’s grunts turn to moans, delighted by the tight heat coiled around his prick, enjoying the sensation of his hips and balls noisily slapping into his victim’s fat, fleshy ass, a sound that silences the singing birds and echoes through the forest’s trees.  
  
          Kian lasts a good while for it being his first time. You think it’s just over five minutes when an orgasmic groan leaves his lips and he punches every inch of his cock into Emmie’s jiggling, beaten-up bum, bottoming out balls-deep into her asshole. His eyes fall closed as he empties his balls of their load, and though you can’t feel it yourself, you know his cock is twitching out everything he’s got, slathering her innards with spunk, filling her to the deepest of her bowels with his seed. After he spurts out the rest of it, he just lies still atop her, groaning, letting the pleasure fade as warmth flushes through his limbs. When the last bit of his orgasmic bliss leaves him, he rises to his knees and wipes away the spittle that he’d drooled. You stand to your feet and pace to Emmie’s rear, and you and Kian both watch intently as he slowly pulls out, the goblin’s rubbed-raw asshole slowly letting his cock draw back. Her anus gapes a bit when Kian’s cockhead finally pops out, and a rope of black seed hangs from the slit of his crown to her bumhole for a brief moment before breaking. Kian stumbles back and falls flat on his ass, breathing heavily, but you pay him little mind. His black cum – which’ll be white next time and every time after – flows thick from Emmie’s ass, and when the last of it pools into the grass between her thick thighs, it changes color in one smooth wave from black to purple, and as its color shifts, so too does its form, from fluid to solid, from liquid seed into a bumpy, shining crystal. Kian’s Lethicite.  
  
          You snatch the purple crystal from the grass and grimace as you twirl it in your fingers. It’s not exactly appetizing, but . . . making yourself stronger hasn’t always been a pretty affair, has it? _Shit_ . . . bottoms up.  
  
          You pop the crystal into your mouth and crunch down on it, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t trying to eat it much quicker than you did Kylie’s Lethicite. When you’ve got the last of it down your throat, you steady your stance and ready yourself for the agony that comes with devouring shards of souls, but . . . it doesn’t come. There’s a bit of a prickly, pins-and-needles feeling flushing through you, but it’s nothing like the agony Kylie’s Lethicite put you through. It’s not from any lacking of potency on Kian’s part, no, you don’t think so. It seems your strength is reaching new heights. Again your mind feels sharper than before, in vague, nebulous ways you can’t really quantify or explain. You’re tempted to see how much of this forest you could instantly set ablaze with a single snap of your fingers, but you stop yourself. That’d make quite the mess that you’re not willing to clean up. Besides, this forest makes for good stomping grounds for your sons.  
  
          You pace back around to Emmie and crouch down. You lift her head by her hair, just enough so that she faces you, and you lock your eyes with hers. With a short grunt you effortlessly bore your mind into hers, burrowing deep into her, forcefully tearing through her barriers and resistances, until your consciousness is resting squarely within hers and her eyes have gone slack and listless. “You’re my boy’s bitch now,” you growl at her, rearranging her thoughts with your own as you violently bend her will and shift her very being. “Whenever you see him, you’ll open your legs for him. You’ll serve him, you’ll worship him, and you’ll fucking _pray_ that he thinks you worthy enough to put a squirt of seed in your cunt.”  
  
          “Yes,” she says, nodding dopily. “I’m his.”  
  
          “Say his name. Say your master’s name.”  
  
          “Kian.”  
  
          You roughly wrench your mind free from hers and stand to your feet. Kian’s already pulled his shorts back up and buckled his belt, and you nod to him when your eyes meet. The two of you leave Emmie quivering in the grass as you stride back in the direction you’d came from.  
  
          “You can go out whenever you like,” you say to Kian as you walk with him shoulder-to-shoulder. “Just make sure one of your mothers know you’ve left. And be back by nightfall.”  
  
          “Okay,” he says, sighing a pleased breath, looking utterly satisfied. You know that look well, but it’s strange seeing it in a face that isn’t your own. Kian sure did grow up fast, but unlike with Kylie, you’re not lamenting it. You’re glad he’s grown. It’s going to be great, having a right-hand man. You and Kian are destined for great things, you already know it.


	6. No Favorites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father spends time with each of his mouse-girls, meets an unfriendly face, and creates something never before seen in Mareth.

          When the clamp severs the cord, Lillian gasps a few shallow breaths as air fills her lungs for the first time, and when they’re full, she gives a strong, loud cry. A healthy cry. You wipe the wet wisp of her white hair from her face before handing her to Rebecc, whose eyes glow with joy as she takes her baby and brings her to her breast.  
  
          . . .  
  
          You don’t bother putting a hand to the railing as you descend the stairs to the cellar, as you’re more than capable of catching yourself should you fall. It took a few weeks, but the cellar is now finally free of that nagging scent of must and dust, and now smells no different than any room of the farmhouse above it. It smells mostly of lavender, but thanks to Lillian, there’s also a noticeable hint of baby powder in the air. It’s more of a furnished basement than a cellar, truthfully. The shelves are lined with folded blankets and clothes and stuffed animals, and toys both old and new are strewn-about over the carpeted floor, and though there are some wooden crates and farm tools tucked in corners, the cellar has more of a bedroom feel to it than it does a storage area. Rebecc has decorated the wall shelf nearest her bed with a pine wreath and idols to the Gods. The Gods don’t have much sway over you or most anyone else in your family, but Rebecc has always been pious, and you’re not so cruel that you’d take that away from her. So long as she knows to serve you first and foremost, she can have all the other Gods she wants.  
  
          You find Rebecc wiping down Lillian on the padded changing table, replacing her dirtied cloth diaper with a clean one. Rebecc hears you approach, and she gives you a quick, smiling glance over her shoulder. “Hi, darling,” she says happily, before returning her attention to wiping Lillie’s bum.  
  
          “Hey,” you say back. You come to stand beside her, and when you lean closer, Lillie’s eyes immediately switch from her mother to you, recognizing your face. You waggle a finger over her chin, and Lillie immediately grabs it in her soft, tiny hand. She’s a good-sized baby, at about eight and a half pounds, and save for the early nubby horns on her forehead, she looks no different than any human infants you saw in Ingnam, though her skin, like her mother, is more pale-white than it is pink. She has your gray eyes, as all of your children do, but she doesn’t open them often and doesn’t keep them open for long when she does. Again, like any other newborn. Lillie’s a quiet baby, not often crying. Squeaks, snorts, and the occasional sneeze are just about all the sounds she makes. She was a bit of a strange sight at first, as she’s your first child to be born as a true infant. Kylie hatched as a toddler from her egg, as all harpies do, and her mouse-siblings weren’t much less developed when Amily birthed them. But, unfamiliar sight or not, you wouldn’t want Lillie any other way. She’s perfect as she is.  
  
          “I have something for you,” you say as you look to Rebecc.  
  
          “Oh?”  
  
          You reach into your pocket, brandish an old three-prong key, and put it in Rebecc’s hand.  
  
          “What’s this to?” she asks as she examines it.  
  
          “It’s the key to this cellar.”  
  
          She looks back to you, but you don’t give her the chance to speak.  
  
          “You’ve been good for this family,” you tell her, nodding. _“Your_ family,” you correct yourself. “Kylie would’ve gone through a lot more pain birthing that egg if you hadn’t been there. You’ve helped around here in every way you can, cooking, harvesting, and most importantly, being a mother to our children. I appreciate you schooling the kids on Mareth. It’s important they learn more about this world beyond this farm and that old camp.”  
  
          “I wouldn’t have been able to do it if Kylie hadn’t gotten the books from the Capital,” Rebecc says meekly, thinking herself too unworthy for your praise.  
  
          “I know,” you nod again. “But this farm wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m not keeping you locked down here at night anymore.”  
  
          “Okay,” Rebecc says softly. She sets the key on the changing stand, and she reaches for the freshly-changed Lillie, but before she can take her, you grab one of Rebecc’s arms, stopping her. When she looks to you again, she finds your brow lowered and your eyes glaring.  
  
          “I’m warning you now,” you begin, “If you take Lillian and run away—”  
  
          “—That’s not ever going to happen,” Rebecc cuts you off, shaking her head. There’s this look of genuine hurt in her eyes, like she’s devastated you’d still think she’d betray your trust, and though you don’t truly believe she will, this still needs to be said.  
  
          “Let me finish. If you take Lillian and run away, Rebecc, I will chase you to each and every corner of this world. I don’t care where you go, wherever it is, I will follow you, and I will find you. And when I catch you, Lillian will be the only one coming home with me. You understand?”  
  
          Rebecc raises her hand and puts it against your cheek, and her blue eyes glimmer with affection as they meet yours, just as they always did whenever she’d look upon you before you had stolen her from Owca and made her your wife. No, actually, not quite. The emotions behind her gaze are stronger now. They’re more intense and heartfelt. It’s more than affection now. It’s love. “I’m not going anywhere,” she declares, her tone soft yet strong. “Ever.” She runs her hand from your cheek to your chin and back again, caressing your face. “The Gods had you take me for a reason, darling. I wouldn’t have Lillian if it weren’t for you,” she says, glancing at Lillie before looking back to you. “She wouldn’t be _perfect_ if it weren’t for you. I trust you. Why can’t you trust me?”  
  
          “My trust has been broken before,” you answer, speaking quietly, almost in a whisper.  
  
          “By who?”  
  
          “No one in this world,” you utter as you shake your head. “In my old world. In Ingnam.”  
  
          “Someone there hurt you?” she asks, her caring eyes studying yours.  
  
          You gulp before you answer. “My father.”  
  
          Why did you just tell her that? You _swore_ to yourself you’d never mention your old life again.  
  
          You clear your throat. “Do you know where the girls are?” you ask, swiftly changing the topic as you grab Rebecc’s hand and return it to her side.  
  
          Rebecc seems hesitant to let you change the topic and escape like that, but she sees that you clearly want to speak no more of it, and her respect for your wishes outweighs her desire to see you confront your past.  
  
          “Kylie and Laya are in Amily’s house, I think,” she answers. “Ave’s fishing at the lake with Kian. I’m not sure where Nati is.”  
  
          You lean over and peck a kiss on Lillie’s forehead and turn to leave, but Rebecc puts her hand on your shoulder and stops you, just as you did to her a moment ago. “Don’t forget about me,” she says, smiling, and you chuckle under your breath as she pulls you into her and kisses you. “See you at dinner, darling,” she says when you pull away.  
  
          You jog up the stairs and make your way down the hall towards the farmhouse’s front door. Today’s a big day. There seems to be a lot of those lately, _‘big days,’_ but this one might be the biggest yet. Natalia, Averie, and Alaya are grown now, and the time has come for you to—  
  
          —The sound of something shattering stops your thoughts. You hurry to the source of it, the lounge, and find Amily kneeling on the hardwood floor in the middle of the room, picking up a dozen shards of a vase and carefully amassing them into a single pile. She’s wearing a blouse and cotton pants and has her brown hair weaved into a bun, a very _housewife-y_ look. Kylie’s black-and-purple egg sits in the rocking chair just behind her, partly swaddled in its birthmother’s old pink blanket.  
  
          “What happened?” you ask.  
  
          “I don’t know,” she says, giving an emphatic shrug of disbelief. “I was just rocking in the chair with Kylie’s egg when the vase crashed onto the floor.”  
  
          “Was it on the edge of the table?”  
  
          “I don’t think so,” she shakes her head. “And it didn’t just _fall,_ it . . . _jumped._ I . . . I don’t know, I’ve got the window open, it must’ve just been the wind.”  
  
          You walk to the open window and hold your hand through. No breeze. Strange. You turn back to Amily and cross your arms as you give a short sigh. First the shattered lamp from Kylie’s childbirth, and now this shattered vase. As unique and bizarre as your family might be, when it comes to inadvertently breaking furniture, it seems to be no different than any other.  
  
          “Have you felt how heavy that egg is now?” Amily asks you, and her words prompt you to look to it. It seems damn near twice as large now than it was when Kylie birthed it. “Must be almost thirty pounds now,” she says.  
  
          “Good. Means it’s healthy. It wouldn’t be growing if it wasn’t.”  
  
          Amily stands to her feet and pats her blouse. “How do those eggs grow without breaking apart?”  
  
          “You’re asking the wrong person,” you say with a chuckle. “I have no idea.”  
  
          “You think it’ll hatch soon?”  
  
          “I imagine so. Sooner than you think, probably.”  
  
          You kiss Amily’s cheek and leave her, heading to the hall and starting down towards the front door again.  
  
          What were you saying before? Oh, right. Nati, Ave, and Laya. Their time has come. They’re grown young women now, and today’s the day you deflower them. But with Lillian born, Kylie’s egg about to hatch, and Sophie and Whitney being pregnant, some family planning is definitely in order. Impregnating your mouse-girls each with their own litter would be an awful idea. That could mean damn near twenty new arrivals, and even as spacious as the farm is, that would just be too much of a population shock. Your drive to procreate and sire children has been uncontrollable since you’ve embraced your corruption, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to redirect. You almost hate to have to do this, but it’s going to be planned procreation from here on out. Nati, Ave, and Laya will be mothers someday, but not now, not yet. That said, you’re still going to make them women. You’re just going to need to employ some . . . _restraint,_ and to be mindful of where you leave your seed.  
  
          The air’s a little chilly as you step out onto the porch, but it’s not uncomfortable, as the midday sun does a good job of warding off the cold of the night. The seasons in Mareth are erratic, and though you seem to be in the midst of a long autumn, there’s no telling whether a snowy winter or another dry summer will take its place.  
  
          The very moment the door swings shut behind you, Cain gallops over to the side of the porch. He’d been waiting for you, seems like. As you take in the sight of him, it’s incredible to see just how much he already he looks like a man. His jaw is angular but masculine, his brow is strong and intense, and he has the beginnings of a patchy stubble on his face. He wears a short-sleeved shirt that tightly hugs his well-defined barrel-chest, but he wears nothing on his lower horse-half, nothing to obscure his manhood that rests under his rear haunches. There isn’t much a centaur _could_ wear down there to avoid being nude, and everyone in your family is mature enough to realize that.  
  
          “I want to talk, Dad,” he tells you, though it sounds more of a demand than a request. He’s upset, and you think you already know why.  
  
          “Okay.” You walk over and rest your arms on the porch’s railing. With his towering stature, despite the fact he’s standing on the earth and you’re standing on the raised porch, Cain’s face is only a few inches lower than yours. He’s got to be at least seven feet from hoof to head, and he’s still got a little more growing yet to go. He’s not like his half- _‘pony’_ mother or similarly undersized sister. He’s a true, massive centaur. The size dimorphism in centaurs is a vast one. Big men, small women.  
  
          “When are you going to take me to the forest?” Cain asks.  
  
          You’re silent for a moment, and you look away from him, out over the farm. You aren’t quite sure what answer Cain wants to hear from you, but, really, there’s only one answer to give. “When you’re ready,” you say.  
  
          “I _am_ ready,” he professes, his tone darkening with anger.  
  
          You look back to Cain and meet his gray eyes. “No, you’re not,” you tell him point-blank. “Not yet. Just . . . be patient.”  
  
          He scowls at that. “I don’t want to be patient.”  
  
          “Your brother was older than you when I took him to the forest.”  
  
          “I don’t care,” he says, furiously shaking his head. “I’m done waiting.”  
  
          You reach to Cain and grab his chin. “I’m not _conspiring_ against you,” you growl at him, not with anger, but with exasperation. “I’m not trying to make you unhappy, alright? I know you’re having urges, Cain, and I know they’re strong, but when you sate them for the first time, they won’t just be _‘urges’_ any longer. They’ll be _cravings._ They’ll be _hungers._ You see how often Kian’s gone? He leaves as often as he does because he _has to._ Because sating himself is as essential to him as _drawing breath.”_  
  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Cain mutters, his voice and gaze suddenly uneasy and uncertain.  
  
          “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying . . . enjoy your life as it is now while you still can. Just because you aren’t little anymore doesn’t mean you’re not still a child. Don’t rush into it, Cain. It’ll come in due time, and when it does, I’ll be there with you. Okay?”  
  
          “Okay,” he says, nodding weakly.  
  
          You give his cheek a gentle pat. “Now go on,” you tell him, and with that, he slowly turns and trots off.  
  
          When he’s gone, you start down the porch’s steps and take a short walk down the dirt road to the farmhouse closest to yours, where Amily and your mouselings all sleep, assuming none of them are sharing your bed, which, after today, won’t be a guarantee for the girls anymore. The red paint and spacious attic are the only clues the house was once a barn. The sliding barn doors have been taken out, re-walled, and replaced with a standard door same as any other, and curtained windows now dot the building’s walls. It took a great deal of time and effort on Whitney’s part, but she rose to challenge and did an excellent job. The interior’s vastly different, as well. When you walk through the door, you’re standing in a furnished, well-kept living room complete with white carpeting and beige wallpaper. Really, the only thing the farm’s new houses lack are kitchens, but considering that everyone always eats in the “central” farmhouse – your home – it’s not needed. You’ve always stressed the importance of communal meals, and with everyone sleeping in separate homes now, it’s especially important for remembering that everyone here is a family. A big and bizarre family, sure, but a family all the same. When the day comes that your house’s dining room can’t hold everyone anymore – and it _will come_ – the only thing that’ll change is that Whitney will be getting to work on building a dining _hall._  
  
          As you walk down the hall to the bedrooms, you begin to hear muffled talking, and when you draw closer to Alaya’s door, you recognize her and Kylie’s voices coming from within. The door’s closed but unlocked, as you’ve commanded everyone in your family to follow a strict No-Locked-Doors policy. The only two doors to be locked – scratch that, make it the only _single_ door now – is the master bedroom’s door in the central farmhouse. Your room. And even then, it’s only to be locked by you, no one else.  
  
          You put your ear against the door, and Laya’s voice is the first to be heard. “He won’t like it,” she says, speaking flat-toned and sounding somber and insecure. “He won’t like _me.”  
  
          _ “Don’t be silly,” Kylie reassures her. “Of course he’ll like it.”  
  
          “I won’t be good for him.”  
  
          “Yes you will.”  
  
          Seems like you chose a good time to eavesdrop. Laya must’ve realized that her time has been nearing. It’s never really been a secret.  
  
          “He’ll be angry at me,” Laya says, and that hurts your heart to hear. How could she ever think that?  
  
          “Don’t be silly,” Kylie says, her voice soft and soothing. You’ve never doubted Kylie’s confidence in you, but it’s still reassuring to hear her defend you, to be your voice when you can’t be. “He’ll never be angry at you,” Kylie tells her. “You’re his baby. You’re everything to him.”  
  
          Familiar words. Kylie really does take everything you say to heart, doesn’t she?  
  
          “Will it . . . will it hurt?” Alaya asks.  
  
          “Yes,” Kylie says.  
  
          That draws a fearful whimper from Alaya, and the sound of it makes your heart sink in your chest. Fear . . . that’s one thing you’ve never wanted your children to feel. You can’t let Alaya be afraid of you. You still intend to take her virginity, but you won’t do it like you did when you took Kylie’s. You were violent with Kylie that first time you fucked her because you _knew_ she could take it, because you knew that, in the end, she’d enjoy being roughed up like a slut . . . but this can’t be the same. Alaya . . .  she’s a sensitive girl. She needs a sensitive touch.  
  
          You put your hand on the doorknob, but you stop yourself when you hear Kylie speak again. “It’ll only hurt at first,” she says. “And if you relax, it won’t hurt at all. You’ll even start to like it. Believe me. I know it’s scary to think about, and it hurt bad for me at first too, but . . . it changes. Laya, I’ve never been happier than I am now. Every night Daddy lets me be with him is a night I’m grateful for. I know he spoils me and I know it’s selfish, but . . . I wish I had him more. I wish I could have him every single night. One day, you’ll be the same. You’ll want him as bad as I do.”  
  
          “- - - help me?” Alaya whispers, the first words too quiet to hear. “Will you show me?”  
  
          “Are you sure?” Kylie asks.  
  
          “Yes.”  
  
          There’s silence for a long moment, until you begin hearing a faint smacking of flesh. It sounds almost like. . .  no . . . it can’t be. You turn the doorknob and push forward. The door’s new, its hinges freshly-oiled, and it’s silent as you open it just a couple inches’ worth, just enough to see through the crack. Sure enough, just as you suspected, you see Kylie and Alaya sitting on the edge of Laya’s bed, their hands clasped together between them, and though they’re facing the door, they can’t see you, as they’re preoccupied with their gentle but passionate kiss. Kylie kisses her little sister skillfully and with practiced love and passion. Have they kissed before? When they make their kiss wet and deep without hesitation or difficulty, letting their tongues play and mingle, that definitely answers your question. How often do they kiss? When was the first time? Before you can ponder it further, Kylie breaks their kiss and pulls away from Laya’s lips, only to put her hands to Laya’s shoulders and gently push her down onto her back, with her legs hanging over the edge of her bed.  
  
          Kylie strips first, unzipping her wing-friendly sweatshirt by its back and slipping out of it, but that’s the extent of how far she denudes, and she doesn’t touch her bra. She tugs down Alaya’s sweatpants by the waistband, freeing her skinny, furry legs and leaving only her pair of pink panties, but Laya’s not left in that for long, as Kylie then slowly tugs them down too, stripping Laya into the nude from the waist down. Alaya does the duty of pulling off her hoodie, but she doesn’t do the same with her pink bra. Laya’s not flat-chested, but she’s still always seemed insecure about her petite tits, being that most every other woman in the family has a substantial pair of breasts – including her own beloved big sister – but you won’t let that insecurity last for long.  
  
          The tuft of purple fur guarding Alaya’s labia opens when Kylie pushes apart her legs, revealing the pink, shining lips of her moist, virginal pussy. Kylie runs her hands along Laya’s thighs as she keeps them pressed open, petting her and calming her, and it isn’t long before Kylie has Laya’s unease melting away, replaced by a shy but needy lust. Laya’s already nibbling her bottom lip when Kylie lowers her head and puts her lips to her Laya’s thigh and kisses her. She smooches her lovingly again and again, making a trail of kisses from her knee to the edge of her furry mons, though she doesn’t yet dare to greet Laya’s cunt. She makes a circle of kisses around her younger sister’s muff but never puts her lips to Laya’s inflamed, puffy pussy. Laya’s mouth hangs open as she lets out breathy moans, her gray eyes locked on Kylie below her, watching as her sister worships her thighs and crotch with a tender, gentle passion.  
  
          “Can I touch it?” Kylie asks in a whisper.  
  
          Alaya nods.  
  
          Kylie moistens her plump lips with her tongue, and at last, she brings her mouth to Laya’s pussy. She pecks a kiss right onto Laya’s tunnel, which draws a gasp from her, and she quickly follows it up with another smooch, and then another, until she’s barraging Laya with a series of swift kisses to every corner of her pussy. When Kylie finally kisses Laya’s clitoris, her squeaky gasps shift to breathy moans, but Kylie doesn’t stop there, and she follows it with yet another short kiss to Laya’s pink little bud. Ready to pick up the pace and the pleasure, Kylie lolls out her tongue and sweeps it gently against Laya’s soaking-wet cunny, giving her long, affectionate licks, making Laya’s pussy-lips slick with more than just her own fluids. Laya’s moans slowly turn shrill, her chest rising and falling just a bit faster, but Kylie doesn’t slow her efforts, and she starts twisting and turning her head as she angles her tongue into every corner of Laya’s pussy that she can reach, pleasuring her little sister in every way she can manage. Though you’re fairly certain Kylie has only ever given oral sex to her mother during threesomes with Sophie and you, Kylie worships Laya’s pussy with surprisingly _deft_ touches of her moist tongue, jabbing at her clit with it like a wet spear, lapping it over her flower like a gentle brush, and Laya has no choice but to squirm and writhe as her untouched teen pussy is flooded with pleasure the likes of which she’s never felt. Kylie’s a masterful pussy-eater, it seems. No less talented with a cunt in her mouth than she is with a cock.  
  
          It’s a strange sight. You can still vividly remember when both of these girls of yours were mere toddlers, still learning how to use their feet – and, in Kylie’s case, her wings – and yet here they are, pleasuring one another, showing their love for each other in a way you never expected them to, and right before your very eyes. But you’re not going to stay a spectator.  
  
          When Laya closes her eyes and lets her head roll back as she moans, you use the chance to slip through the door, lock it behind you, and approach them. Laya’s desk in the corner of the room has a series of pencils and notebooks resting atop it, yet another amenity courtesy of Kylie’s trips to Tel’Adre, and the west wall of Laya’s bedroom has a collage of masterful, colorless drawings on notebook paper taped against it, including a few drawings you’ve never seen before—but now’s not the time to admire any of that. You kneel beside Kylie and make your presence known by unstrapping her bra and releasing her perfect tits, and when she feels the straps pop, she turns to you and gives you an unsurprised smile. “Hi, Daddy,” she says softly, before leaning in and greeting you with a kiss to your lips. Did Kylie already realize you were watching them? You wouldn’t put it past her. Wily thing.  
  
          “Daddy!” Alaya yelps when she looks down and notices you, and she jams her legs shut as her eyes bulge. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I was just—”  
  
          _“—Shh,_ it’s alright, Laya,” you hush her gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetie. Kylie’s done well. I’m just here to help.”  
  
          “I didn’t put my fingers in her,” Kylie tells you obediently. Smart girl. She knows exactly what it is you want the first thing inside Alaya to be, and it certainly isn’t a finger.  
  
          “I know, sweetie,” you nod, and you give Kylie another kiss, this one much deeper, and you hold her neck with one hand and grope one of her feathery tits with the other as your tongue makes love to hers. You can taste her sister on Kylie’s tongue, and the thought of it has your cock aching in your trousers. From a pussy to one tongue to another, all in the same loving family. You keep your kiss with Kylie short though, and you soon pull away and turn your eyes to Alaya, Kylie doing the same.  
  
          You grab Laya’s thighs, and she doesn’t fight you whatsoever as you gently push her legs apart. _“There_ it is,” you whisper as your smile widens, your eyes affixing themselves on Laya’s teen pussy, which is now blooming wide and overflowing with her bubbly lust. Kylie sure did get her turned on. That’s good. This’ll hurt a lot less for Laya now, and that’s in no small part thanks to Kylie. She’s a good sister.  
  
          “Laya’s got such a pretty pussy, doesn’t she, Daddy?” Kylie asks as she rests her head against your shoulder, smiling with you, joining you in gazing into the beauty of her little sister’s cunt.  
  
          “She sure does,” you nod as you put your thumbs to the lips of Laya’s cunny and spread it just a bit wider. “Just beautiful.” You reach down and grab Laya’s pink panties from the floor, and as you touch them, you realize that they’re slightly damp from her lust. You hold the damp spot against your nose and draw a long breath, filling your lungs with her scent. It’s light and musky, not wholly pleasant, but wholly satisfying. “Such a great smell too,” you say with a sigh, and when you hold Laya’s panties to Kylie’s nose, she gladly takes a deep whiff of her own, closing her eyes and shuddering at the smell of it. “How does it smell?” you ask Kylie, smiling at her.  
  
          She opens her eyes and turns to you. _“Feminine,”_ she whispers.  
  
          When you and her turn to Laya, you find her eyes still bulging, but not with fear like before, now they’re wide only with awe and disbelief. She can clearly hardly believe her eyes, seeing her father and sister so comfortable with enjoying the most intimate parts of a person’s body, seeing how effortless it is for you and Kylie. It can be effortless for Laya too, but it’ll take work, and she’ll need help. Thankfully, she’s got two people who love her to death right here in this very room, ready and eager to give her that help.  
  
          You put your hands onto Alaya’s thighs and lower your head, and you can feel her flesh tense as you bring your mouth closer to her waiting pussy. You peer up at her with softness in your eyes. “Don’t be scared, sweetie,” you whisper. “I’ll make you feel good.”  
  
          “Daddy’s better at it than me,” Kylie says behind you. She’s not wrong. Kylie might have a natural talent, but you’ve been going down on women for years longer than she has.  
  
          Your and Kylie’s words seem to calm Laya, as you can feel her thighs slacken and soften a bit. You push her legs open a bit wider as your lips near hers, and with her pussy spread open and blooming like it is, you can easily see that most of her tunnel is of course still shielded by her hymen. It’s untouched and unsullied, worn thin and widened only from the process of aging. You must’ve seen that thing damn near a hundred times now, from girls of all ages and races, but it’s still not any less thrilling to see. It’s difficult to explain it, but to just _see_ a girl’s purity in her flesh, and to be able to _tear_ that purity away and mark its owner as yours . . . there is nothing more erotic.  
  
          “Do you like it?” Laya asks you softly.  
  
          “It’s beautiful,” you immediately answer. You bring out your tongue and press it against the fur of Laya’s taint, just below her cunt, before slowly running it upwards, brushing the flat of your tongue over the hot flesh of her pussy from bottom to top, from her still-pure tunnel to her ultra-sensitive clitoris, soaking your tongue with the overflow of her pussy’s sour nectar. Laya gasps when you finally slide over her clit, but when you finally do, without mercy, you firmly press your tongue onto it, burying her little bud under the blissful heat and moisture of your tongue, and Laya gives a loud moan as she keels forward and grabs the back of your head, not to push you away, but to pull you closer. “And it tastes even better,” you say with a quiet chuckle before quickly returning your tongue to her.  
  
          You spend a couple more minutes eating out your timid girl, all while she squirms and moans in delight, but her pleasure isn’t your priority, not right now, not today, and as much as you love Alaya, you didn’t come here to please her. It’s time to refocus, but before you can move on from the appetizer and onto the entrée, there’s one more matter at hand that still needs to be put to rest.  
  
          You pull your tongue from Alaya and return it to your mouth, where the fluids of her pussy can mix and mingle with your saliva. You rear back your head and put your hand on Laya’s flat, furry tummy, and you slowly slide it up towards her breasts, until your fingers touch the bottom of the right cup of her pink bra. “Can you take this off, sweetie?” you ask her, though you have a feeling you already know what her answer will be.  
  
          She meekly shakes her head, but she’s not courageous enough to actually say the word.  
  
          “Why not?” you ask.  
  
          “They aren’t pretty,” she says somberly.  
  
          “Yes they are,” you assure her.  
  
          “You haven’t seen them,” she says.  
  
          “I don’t have to see them to know they’re pretty,” you counter.  
  
          She shakes her head again. “You’re just saying that.”  
  
          “No, he isn’t,” Kylie tells her.  
  
          “Kylie’s are prettier than mine,” Laya mutters.  
  
          “That’s not how this works, Laya,” you tell her. “No one’s prettier than anyone else. There’s no favorites here, not with my daughters, alright?”  
  
          She gives a self-calming sigh. “Okay,” she says.  
  
          “Take it off, Laya,” Kylie says, a gentle command, right as you’re about to say the same.  
  
          She reaches beneath herself and unhooks the straps, but she leaves you the honor of pulling her bra away, and you’re more than happy to do it for her. When her furry breasts are finally free, you quickly slide your hands under them and cup them gently. They’re definitely the smallest of any grown girl on your farm, probably a B-cup, and there’s not much flesh to them, but they’re perky and shapely, a delight to your gaze and to your touch.  
  
          “They’re amazing,” you whisper as you thumb each of her pink teats.  
  
          “Really?” Laya asks.  
  
          _“Really.”  
  
          _ You lean down and take one of Laya’s nipples between your lips, suckling her gently, giving her that extra bit of convincing that her breasts are no less enjoyable to you than any of her sisters. Laya starts moaning again as you suckle her, but your lust is burning now, your trousers bursting, and you’re finished with any and all foreplay. It’s time.  
  
          You pull your lips from her teat and rear back. You begin stripping out of your clothes, and Kylie takes that cue to do the same with her pants and panties. Kylie knows that if you strip in her presence, then more often than not, she ought to do the same. “Lay with her,” you order Kylie, and you send her on her way onto the bed with a sharp spank to her tight butt. Kylie snuggles up against Laya and showers her with kisses to her cheek, maybe solely out of excited love, or maybe also to prepare her for the unavoidable pain of what’s to come. Laya’s eyes lock onto your thick cock, and there’s anxiety in her gaze, but it doesn’t stop her from spreading her legs as you climb into her bed and position yourself over her, jabbing your hands into the bed on each of Laya’s sides, propping yourself up with your arms as your crotch sinks between her splayed legs and your crown nears her cunt. She gives a full-body twitch when your cockhead finally prods into her pink pussy, yet her legs stay wide, maybe not _eager_ to accept your manhood, but at least ready. Her sticky-wet cunny makes your cockhead shine with moisture with just that brief touch, but there’s a lot more where that came from. Her pussy will have your cock soaked wet from head to base by the time you’re done.  
  
          You lean down and take Alaya into a soothing but short-lived kiss, and when you rear back, you gaze into her eyes. “Just relax,” you tell her. “It hurts worst the first time.”  
  
          “Okay,” she whispers, nodding.  
  
          “Are you ready?” you ask.  
  
          She nods again.  
  
          Finally you ease your hips forward. The moistness of Alaya’s wet pussy lets it yield easily around your prick, first swallowing your swollen crown, and then inch after inch of your shaft as you spear through her hymen. Laya tenses from the sharp, pinching pain – you can feel it from the tight clenching of her pussy – but your and Kylie’s words of advice, _“Relax,”_ prompt her to calm herself and let her muscles slacken, and as soon as she does, you pick up your pace, thrusting quick, pushing your cock in and out of her hot, snug cunt at a ruthless pace, clapping your balls into her little furry butt. There’s no reason to take things slow. Better to get the pain done and over with.  
  
          “It hurts,” she grunts.  
  
          _“Shh,”_ Kylie hushes her, giving her cheek more kisses. “You’re okay.”  
  
          Alaya’s teen pussy grips you tight, snuggling every inch of your length that you push into her, and, blissfully, your flared cockhead is where you feel most of the pressure. You quickly lose what little control you had over yourself, and you ease your weight down on Laya as you focus all your energy into the muscles of your loins, driving your hips into her crotch over and over, taking your mouse-girl with fast but deep thrusts that have you draw out until your crown is all that still stays snuggled in her cunny, only to swiftly spear yourself back home and sheath all of your cock that you can. Laya’s a close, snug fit, but the wetness of her drenched cunt let you push through without problem. It’s a perfect hole to pleasure yourself with.  
  
          “You’re mine, sweetie,” you whisper to Laya as your eyes turn upwards from her wet, squelching pussy, taking care to sound more comforting than commanding. “And you’ll always be mine.”  
  
          She nods.  
  
          “Who loves you, sweetie?” you ask.  
  
          “You, Daddy,” she answers.  
  
          The erotic symphony of your groaning, Alaya’s pained squeaking, and the clapping of your balls soon gets Kylie too hot and bothered to stay an idle observer. She lifts one of her sizable, feathery breasts to her mouth and takes her pink nipple between her lips as she starts suckling herself and gulping her corrupted milk, squeezing her tit with her hand to strengthen the flow, and she lowers her other hand to her crotch and thrusts two of its fingers into her wet, hungry cunny. You can’t help but briefly consider switching to Kylie and pushing your cock into the snug, welcoming pussy that it so often – almost daily – calls home, maybe even while sucking her other tit and drinking your fill, but you decide against it, for now.  
  
          This might actually start being a problem in the future. Deciding which of your lovely daughters you ought to fuck silly. But it sure as hell isn’t a bad problem to have.  
  
          You’re not able to weather the pleasure building in your loins for much longer, and it’s only when you feel your gut clenching that you remember you need to decide on a different hole for your seed. Still thrusting, you turn and look to Kylie beside you, and that question of yours is immediately answered. “Kylie,” you groan, struggling to find your breath. Kylie drops her tit from her lips as she turns her head, and she looks surprised to hear you ask for her, as she’d probably expected you to finish inside Alaya, but when you pull out of Laya, Kylie still obediently spreads her long legs for you as you reposition yourself onto her.  
  
          You swiftly bury your cock into Kylie’s snug slit, and she locks her legs around your hips and drapes her arms over the back of your neck as you lie atop her. “Let it out, Daddy,” she coos to you with a slow, sweet nod as you piston your hips into hers, your member violently forcing apart the walls of her tunnel. “Let it _all_ out.” She clenches her cunny on you, letting her tight pussy shower your cock with pleasure. It’s no mystery that Kylie loves when you finish inside her, and you’ve sure done it often enough for her to have gotten good at maximizing your pleasure, squeezing her walls around you while you cum, using her pussy to suck out every drop of seed that she can. The friction of her hot, squeezing cunt has you firing off in just seconds, twitching and spurting your thick seed into her, painting her womb white, making it sticky with your cum. Kylie giggles happily as you groan, positively overjoyed by the act of her father dumping his load into her pussy, but when you press your open lips onto hers and take her into a tonguing, open-mouthed kiss, her giggling is silenced, and she settles instead for throaty, passionate moans.  
  
          After you thrash out the last of your load into Kylie, you pull out of her spunky-white pussy and rear back. You just relax there on your knees for a moment, letting your singing-with-pleasure flesh calm down and go quiet. After you’ve gathered your breath, you lean down and give each of your sweet girls a kiss – and give Kylie’s perky tits a loving, jiggling slap, which draws a giggle from her – before you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand to your feet.  
  
          “Daddy?” Alaya speaks up as you start redressing. “Was I bad?”  
  
          “Of course not, sweetie,” you assure her as you glance at her. “Why would you ask that?”  
  
          “Why didn’t you finish inside me?”  
  
          “Don’t worry about that, sweetie,” you answer, shaking your head. “That isn’t your concern, okay? It doesn’t mean you were bad. You were great.”  
  
          Kylie runs her hand along Laya’s thigh. “You were amazing,” Kylie tells her, and that gets Laya to smile.  
  
          “Can you stay, Daddy?” Laya asks, pouting as she looks to you.  
  
          It _would_ be a good idea to stay here with Alaya, to give her a warm body to cuddle with after being deflowered, but Averie and Natalia still need you, and you can’t let Laya hog you to herself. Besides, there’s another person here in the room that can substitute for you just fine.  
  
          “I _can’t,_ sweetie,” you tell her, and there’s true remorse in your voice. “I’ve got a lot to do today. But Kylie will stay with you, won’t you?”  
  
          “Of course,” Kylie says as she puts her arms around her little sister and hugs her close, and Laya sighs as she returns her hug and snuggles with her.  
  
          You swiftly finish gathering your things and clothing yourself, but before you leave, you lean over the bed and give each of your sweet daughters two more parting kisses. “Bye, girls,” you whisper.  
  
          “Bye, Daddy,” they whisper back in unison.  
  
          “I love you, Daddy,” Laya says.  
  
          “I love you too, sweetie.”  
  
          You halt for a moment at the door and turn your head to them. “Oh, and, Kylie,” you begin, looking to her. “Don’t forget to clean up.”  
  
          “I won’t,” she says, grinning, and she dips her finger into the mess of cum in her pussy as you turn away and slip through the door and leave the house.  
  
          Midday is gone. The sun is on its downward path in the sky as you leave Amily’s home. It’ll be sunset in a few hours. That’s one mouse-daughter down, but there’s two more to go, and you’d like to have the hat trick done today. Have to move quick. You turn to the north, the direction of the lake, and you take off in a sprint.  
  
          You’re at the lake just five minutes later, not even an eighth of the time it would’ve taken you if you walked, and you’re not even winded, not even having broken a sweat. You’re in the best shape of your life, and it isn’t close. How much of that is from the Lethicites?  
  
          The green grass turns to soft, cream-colored sand at the beach of the lakeside, and, except for the downward incline into the clear, blue water, the beach is very nearly flat, dotted only by the occasional rock, some short, others tall. Just ahead of you, Kian and Averie are standing just inches from where the water ends, with fishing rods held in their hands and their lines cast out into the water.  
  
          Watching them from afar, you let your mind float out of yourself and project it forward, until it reaches your son. _Kian,_ you say, and you can feel him flush with fright from hearing another voice in his head, but when he realizes who it was that just spoke, his fear fades.  
  
          _Dad?  
  
          Reel your line in and come to me, slowly, _ you tell him. It takes some effort to project yourself as far as you are, and without any physical touch to act as a beacon or catalyst, but you’re more than strong enough to manage it without discomfort. _I’m behind you,_ you explain. _And don’t tell Ave.  
  
_           Kian starts reeling in his line, and as he does, Averie turns her head and talks to him, but you’re too far to hear her words. Kian says something back, and when Ave looks back to the lake, Kian turns his back to her, sticks his fishing rod into the sand, and starts towards you.  
  
          “What’s up?” he asks when he’s standing with you.  
  
          “It’s time,” you tell him solemnly. “Give your sister and I some privacy.”  
  
          “For how long, thirty seconds?” he quips, and you both chuckle together.  
  
          “Ten minutes sounds better,” you say to him. _“And no peeking.”  
  
          _ “Gross,” he says with a shake of his head, still chuckling. He definitely doesn’t have your taste for incest. He gives your shoulder a single pat before turning and striding off, down along the beach.  
  
          You start creeping towards Averie, careful not to make a sound, until you’re there and upon her, standing right behind her, your chest just mere inches away from touching her back. If her tail wasn’t resting limp at her feet, it’d be touching you.  
  
          “Ave,” you say, but before Averie can look to you, you put one of your hands against her throat – not choking her, just holding her – and take the fishing rod out of her grip and plant it into the sand with the other. Once you’ve tossed it aside, you slip your hand up her shirt and under her bra, your fingers soon finding one of her pert, furry breasts as you grope and squeeze her.  
  
          “What—what are you doing,” Ave stammers.  
  
          “Exactly what you think I’m doing,” you whisper into her ear.  
  
          “Kian is . . . he’s . . .” she can’t find her words, her thoughts scrambled by your forceful groping of her breast.  
  
          “He’s gone,” you assure her, still whispering. “I’ve got you all to myself.”  
  
          No need to take things slow. You know your girls well. You know that, just like sweet Kylie on her first time, Averie wants you just as bad as you want her, and she’s not going to give you any amount of bashful resistance like Alaya did. Ave’s a tough girl. She doesn’t need you to be gentle. She doesn’t _want_ you to be.  
  
          A moan escapes Ave’s mouth when you squeeze her tit, and she presses herself into you, nuzzling her back into your chest, eager for your aggressive affection, and you’re happy to give it. You shift your hand to her other delightful breast and fondle it just as lovingly as you did the last, until you feel her nubby teat stiffen as it flushes with hot blood. Her lashing mouse-tail unconsciously whips back and forth across you, battering your crotch, giving your cock that last need of stimulation it needs to stir from its slumber. A happy accident. For that reason alone, you’ll never have a problem with tails.  
  
          “Do you like it when I play with your body?” you ask, as though there’s more than one possible answer.  
  
          “Yes,” she whispers, mewling and whining with arousal.  
  
          “You’re my furry little toy, aren’t you?”  
  
          “Yes, Daddy.”  
  
          You take your hand from Averie’s throat and pull the tie off her hair, un-binding her ponytail and freeing her brown locks to tumble over her shoulders. Then, without warning, your hand shoots downwards, leaving Ave’s breasts to make its way down her tight, toned stomach. Though you can’t ever see her abs beneath her fur, you can certainly feel them, and they’re tight and rock-hard. But you don’t spend much time admiring her fitness, and your hand soon leaves her shirt and slithers under her shorts and panties, sliding down her warm, furry crotch. You find her mons soon after, and Ave moans again when your fingers finally find her cunt. It’s hot and sticky against your fingers, already worked up, already hungering for a cock to fill it.  
  
          “You’re wet,” you tell her, grinning. “Why is that?”  
  
          “I—” —you steal your breath from her by flicking her clit, and she tenses against your chest.  
  
          “Because you want me,” you answer for her. _“Bad._ And your little pussy just can’t handle it. Isn’t that right?”  
  
          “Yes,” she whimpers.  
  
          You circle your finger within the folds of her cunt, teasing her hot vulva as it moistens more and more. “Whose pussy is that?” you ask.  
  
          “Yours.”  
  
          Without using your hands, you turn Averie’s head gently up and to the side while you crane your neck, and when your eyes lock, her mouth finds yours as you kiss. Your kiss soon turns deep, your tongues meeting and mingling as your girl welcomes her father’s loving embrace. You don’t stop diddling her needy twat as you kiss her – though you’re mindful not to actually dip your finger into her tunnel – and as you kiss, Averie reaches behind herself and puts her arm around your neck, holding you closer to her. _“Daddy,”_ she whines between kisses. She needs you, and she needs you now.  
  
          You break your kiss. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” you whisper, still meeting her eyes. “I’ll give your pussy what it wants.”  
  
          With that, you tear Averie’s shirt and shorts – using more than just your hands – before then doing the same with your clothes. You press your bare body into hers as your weight forces her down onto the soft sand of the beach, laying her flat on her back. Her legs open for you as you plant your knees just below her, but before you bring your cock to her cunt, you first briefly stand straight on your knees as you spread her pussy-lips with your hand and lay your eyes on her hymen, the sight of which only serves to make your lust boil even hotter. Satisfied by her virginity – which you never doubted she still possessed – you grab your shaft and prod against her pussy with your cockhead, which is still somewhat moist from Alaya. But you don’t run yourself into Ave just yet, and you let your crown rest against Ave’s blooming flower as your hands dart upwards, where they quickly close around her beautiful breasts. They’re stunningly perky, thanks in part to her fitness, and they’re big enough to bounce lewdly when you slap them. You grab her nipples and give them a light twist as you pull them outwards, and her breasts jiggle when you release them and let them return to rest, all while Averie gasps and moans, her arms extending outwards, her legs spreading wider. She wants you inside her . . . but you want to hear her beg first.  
  
          “You’re my bitch,” you tell her. “And bitches beg. So, _beg.”  
  
_           “Please fuck me, Daddy!” she pleads. “Put it inside me, _please.”_  
  
          You smirk and chuckle. “What are you?” you ask.  
  
          “Your bitch!” she cries out, nodding furiously.  
  
          You thrust your hips forward, pushing your cockhead through the lips of Averie’s tight pussy, tearing her hymen as your shaft follows suit through her tunnel, until you’re buried to her hilt and she’s filled to her brim. Her eyes bulge as her snug pussy struggles to hold your thick cock, but you don’t give her any chance to get accustomed to you. You ease your weight onto her and press your chest into her pert breasts as you thrust into her at a good, pussy-pummeling pace, clapping your body against hers as you ravage her and claim her cunt as yours. If she’s feeling any pain, she’s weathering it masterfully, because despite as hard as you’re ruthlessly abusing her teen pussy, there’s no hint of discomfort in the breathy moans she’s airing from her hanging-open mouth.  
  
          You push off of Averie and prop yourself up by your arms as you take her pussy, fucking her almost exactly like you did with Alaya. Ave reaches up and grabs your shoulders, holding you while you thump her just a little bit further into the sand with every forceful thrust. “Harder, Daddy,” she begs as she looks into your eyes. “Fuck me harder.” You quickly grant her wish and dominate her as hard as you can, breathing quick, breathless groans as you ruthlessly drive your cock through her, plundering her cunt for all it’s worth. She’s a tight fit, like all her sisters, and her pussy snuggles and coils around your length in the most pleasurable of ways as your pecker pushes and pulls within her.  
  
          _“Damn_ that’s good pussy,” you grunt as heat and pressure builds in your loins, voicing the thought as soon as it comes to your mind. It’s not exactly eloquent, and you’re not telling Averie that for her sake, but it’s just the plain, honest truth. Her pussy is just as good to your cock as all her sisters’ pussies are, a perfect, hot, wet home to welcome your penis and hug, squeeze, and snuggle it until the pleasure’s just too much to bear, and that moment is soon upon you. Your gut begins churning and your nuts begin tightening, your seed rolling and roiling in your balls. _Gods_ do you wish there was a pussy available that could pleasure your cock while you cum and take your seed without any risk of bringing forth a _litter_ of children, but that isn’t the case, and another one of Averie’s holes will just have to suffice.  
  
          You pull out your cock and rise to onto your folded knees, and with a shove by unseen hands you spin Averie around and bring her head towards your cock. You grab a fistful of her hair, but before you can voice your command to her, she’s already astutely leaning forward and taking your pussy-slicked cock into her mouth. She bobs her head up and down as she begins sucking you off.  
  
          _“Good girl,”_ you say as you run your hand affectionately through her hair. “Use your tongue too, sweetie.”  
  
          Heeding your words, a sudden tendril of bliss slithers up your spine when you feel Ave’s long tongue begin pleasuring your cock with quick licks and laps. Her efforts are almost immediately rewarded with your seed as the heat of your orgasm flushes through you, from your loins outwards. Ave flinches when the first spurt arrives, but when your salty seed starts layering her tongue, she soon starts swallowing, gulping your substantial, long-lasting load without objection, and she never has more than a few strings of cum in her mouth at any one time. You push Ave’s head downwards, and though she gives a single coughing gag, she doesn’t fight your forceful hand as you keep your dick pushed deep into her maw. The scorching-hot pleasure empties your lungs of your breath, and as you sigh, Ave sighs with you – breathing through her nose – and her tail lashes about happily as you shoot the last few spurts directly down her throat, bypassing her mouth and sending it immediately on its descent to her cum-filled stomach.  
  
          When your legs give out, you fall back and plop your butt onto the soft sand. Feeling utterly satisfied and drunk with pleasure, you ease yourself down onto your back and stare at the cloudless sky. A moment later, Averie lies on your left side and slips under your arm as she takes you into a hug, her bare breasts squished into your side. It’s a simple thing, but you’ve always liked that feeling, having a woman’s breasts pressed against your ribs. It’s your favorite way to sleep whenever your bed isn’t empty, which is just about every night now. There’s something primally soothing and enjoyable about having a nude woman embracing you, especially when you’re lying on your back. You can’t really put your finger on it, it’s just . . . _pleasant._  
  
          “I love you, Daddy,” Averie whispers, and she leans upwards to plant a kiss on your cheek.  
  
          “I love you too, sweetie,” you say, running your hand up and down her hip.  
  
          As comfy as it is to lay in the cool sand snuggling with your warm, deflowered girl, Averie’s only the second of the third, and you’ve still got one more mouse-daughter left to go. You stand up and help Averie onto her feet, and when you start clothing yourself, Averie soon does the same, though you’re sure to give her firm, furry ass an affectionate spank before she does. The standard _‘you did well, sweetie,’_ gesture. Actions speak louder than words, after all. Well, _most_ actions. When you’re both dressed, Averie grabs her fishing rod from the sand and turns to you, smiling. “I should get back to fishing,” she says, gesturing behind herself with the rod.  
  
          “Yeah,” you agree, and Averie gives you another quick kiss – this time to your lips – before turning away.  
  
          As she leaves your side, you turn and see Kian arriving. Perfect timing. He’s curiously struggling to zip up the jammed fly on his shorts as he walks to you, and the slackened, relaxed look on his face isn’t exactly what you’d see from a young man who simply took a leak. He did much more than that.  
  
          “Shark-girl,” he explains, seeing the confusion in your eyes. “Figured if you were getting laid, I ought to do the same.”  
  
          Raping shark-girls already? Kian’s moving up the chain fast. But you never doubted he could. He’s your son, after all. “Have fun?” you ask.  
  
          “Yeah,” Kian says, and after he finally manages to get his fly zipped up, a devilish grin strikes him. “But she didn’t.”  
  
          You chuckle. “Good to hear.”  
  
          With that, he turns to walk to Averie, but you stop him with a sudden hand to his shoulder. “Kian,” you begin, and he turns his head, but not enough for his eyes to meet yours. “Don’t tease Ave about this. This is how it is. This is what my daughters do. You understand?”  
  
          “I get it, Dad,” he says quietly. “It’s not my business. I won’t bring it up.”  
  
          You pat his shoulder. “Good.”  
  
          After that, Kian trots up to Averie and plucks his fishing rod out of the sand, eager to defeat his sister in their who’ll-catch-more competition, and he curses when he sees Averie yank back on her rod after getting a bite.  
  
          It’s a quick sprint back home, and you make it back to your house right as the sun is sinking below the horizon. You look back and forth, wondering where Natalia could be, but your question is answered when you look to your farmhouse door right as Nati’s back end – mostly her fat ass – disappears through the doorway. Perfect.  
  
          You swiftly jog up the steps of the porch and follow after her, and you’re able to catch the slowly-closing screen door before it shuts. Again, down the hall, you catch only a glimpse of Nati as she disappears through another door, but this time, it’s the door to your bedroom. Curious.  
  
          You push open the door and step inside. The bed’s been made and its sheets and blankets changed, and the window’s curtains look like they’ve dusted – none of which was your doing, and there’s no telling which of your wives happily took the duty – but Nati’s nowhere in sight.  
  
          You hear the door shut and its lock flip down behind you, and right as you turn around, Natalia drapes her arms around your neck and hooks a single leg around your waist, grinding her crotch into yours, taking you into a passionate, erotic embrace, and when you look down to meet her cosmetic-shadowed eyes, she plants her lips onto yours and takes you into a deep kiss, her tongue eagerly searching for – and soon finding – yours. Almost with minds of their own, your hands dart immediately to the big, rounded cheeks of Nati’s fat ass, sinking your fingers into her soft, abundant flesh, which is covered only by her thin, lewd yoga pants. What _else_ would you touch first? Her ass is nearly the biggest you’ve ever seen, and best of all, it’s attached to a youthful, nubile girl that adores you and wants nothing more than you for to pound it, _hard._  
  
          She pulls her mouth from yours and puts a soft, furry-fingered hand against your cheek. “Saved the best for last, Daddy?” she asks with a girlish giggle, delighted by your groping of her booty. Her lustful gaze softens a bit then, and her confident smirk lightens. “Mm . . . you’re such a _stud,_ Daddy . . . why did you make us wait so long? You could’ve fucked me _so many times_ already,” she muses in singsong, her words sweet and honeyed, doing her damnedest to get your cock rock-hard and to arouse you into a daughter-deflowering fury. And it’s working. You don’t even utter a word in response, too mesmerized by Natalia’s shapely bubble butt to speak.  
  
          “You like my butt, don’t you, Daddy?” Nati asks, giggling again, happy to see you so in love with her body. “It’s the best, isn’t it?”  
  
          “It’s amazing,” you utter gently. Your desire to get more gratification from her ass overtakes you, and you tilt your head to the side and peer downwards, watching intently as your hands squeeze and knead the overflowing flesh of her big, bountiful booty. What an ass.  
  
          “Kylie’s your favorite, isn’t she?” she asks you, a tinge of jealousy suddenly coloring her voice.  
  
          “No,” you answer as you look to Natalia’s eyes again. “I don’t play favorites, Nati.”  
  
          “It’s okay, Daddy, I understand,” Nati says, her hand on your cheek shifting as she slides her thumb over your bottom lip. “Kylie’s sweet . . . she’s pretty . . . she’s sexy. I bet she gives you good pussy,” she adds with a slow, understanding nod. “But I’m sexy too . . . and I’ll give you the best pussy you’ve ever had.”  
  
          It’s odd how Nati is the one leading the conversation, that _she’s_ the one asking the questions. She’s . . . prepared. She’s probably been thinking of this moment for a long time. Poor girl. She’s been wanting her Daddy for so very long, waiting so very patiently. Thankfully – for her and you both – she doesn’t have to wait any longer.  
  
          You grab Natalia’s hands and backpedal a few steps, until you budge into the lounge chair in the corner of the room, and you hold Nati as you let yourself fall backwards into it, bringing her with you and having her sit in your lap, her legs planted on each side of yours. Not needing your suggestion to do so, Natalia grabs her shirt by the shoulders and tugs it up and off her head, and her brassiere-concealed breasts fall with a hefty drop when the shirt releases them. Nati giggles when she sees you stare at her tits with lust in your eyes, and she quickly reaches behind herself to fiddle with the straps of her bra, and when they’re released, she pulls it away and tosses it to the floor. Her breasts are large, the largest of her mouse-sisters, no smaller than Kylie’s motherhood-swollen D-cups, but they’re also amazingly shapely, almost like perfect, round orbs of flesh, and her pink teats are hot and hard, standing tall enough to be clearly visible as they poke out from beneath her purple fur. Natalia cups her hands beneath her boobs to better please your eyes, but they’re naturally pert, and they don’t need any help to face forward and stand perky. When she reads the silent desire in your gaze, she leans forward and pushes her breasts into you, and you gladly take one of her hot teats between your lips. The stiff nub only gets harder as your lips squeeze it and your tongue flicks it, and Nati gasps a high-pitched moan from the pleasure.  
  
          Your hands find the waistband of Nati’s pants and violently yank them down, taking her panties with them, freeing her big, furry butt with a fleshy jiggle. With no barrier left to get in the way, your hands finally grab Nati’s ass by her soft, bare cheeks as you grope her with lust and hunger. Nati gasps and whimpers as you defile her body and mark every inch of her flesh with your hands, but she says nothing, uttering no words, and that needs to change.  
  
          You let her teat slip from your lips. “You’re not talking,” you note, your face still nestled against her heavy breasts.  
  
          She rears back, taking her breasts from you, letting your eyes meet again. “What should I say?” she asks quietly, searching your gaze.  
  
          You idly raise your hand and make a spinning gesture with your forefinger, and Nati gets the message right away. She spins her body around, turning her back to you, and arches her back, raising her perfect ass before your eyes. You run each of your hands along the heart-shaped curve of it, and Nati encourages your fondling by shaking her backside, waving her purple-furred rump from side to side. It’s too enticing not to rough her up a bit, so you swat her ass with both hands, abusing her furry cheeks and making them jiggle and wiggle, and Nati gives cute, short gasps as the fat of her bum dances for your eyes.  
  
          It takes you a moment to regain your thoughts, having been damn near entranced by your daughter’s massive ass, but when you do, you remember what you were doing. You slip one of your hands through the deep crevice of the crack of Nati’s ass, and she gasps again when your finger brushes against her needy, burning-hot pussy. “What do you _think_ you should say?” you ask, your finger running along the wet lips of her virginal flower. If Natalia’s been thinking about this moment so much, let’s see if she doesn’t need your help finding the words you want to hear.  
  
          “My . . . pussy,” Nati whimpers, but the words sound less like an answer and more like desperate begging.  
  
          “What about it?” you inquire, smirking, and her butt twitches as you continue teasing her moist cunt.  
  
          “It wants you,” she tells you. “Feel how wet it is? That’s all you, Daddy,” she says as she turns her head and looks to you.  
  
          “Whose pussy is it?” you ask, glaring at her.  
  
          “It’s yours,” she nods furiously. “Take it, Daddy, please,” she says. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”  
  
          You don’t want to wait anymore either.  
  
          You lean forward and hook your arm around Natalia’s waist, and she gives a delighted squeak as you effortlessly lift her and stand to your feet, keeping her held against you with more than just the strength of your arm. You carry her over and toss her gently onto the bed, and she immediately kicks off her pants before lying on the flat of her back and spreading her legs for you, eager for you to fuck her, but she’s in the wrong position. That would be an awful waste of her . . . _assets._ You grab her and flip her onto her stomach, and she doesn’t need your help to raise herself onto her hands and knees. You get into bed with her, but you don’t align your cock with her ass just yet. First you pull apart the cheeks of her butt and lean close, getting a good look at her pink pussy, and of course, you find her hymen still guarding her untouched tunnel. Such a beautiful sight. Despite being the curvaceous slut she is, with a body so stunning, she’s a virgin, and her virginity is yours to take. Like her sisters before her, Natalia’s body is yours to claim. Curvaceous or slender, timid or confident, or anything in-between, Natalia, Averie, and Alaya are _all_ your girls, and they _all_ belong to you. And best of all, they wouldn’t have it any other way. _  
  
_           “Put it in, Daddy,” Natalia begs you.  
  
          You release your grip on her cheeks and let them return to their resting state with a light jiggle. You grab your prick and scoot your knees forwards, and you and Nati sigh together as the tip of your cock finally touches your last mouse-daughter’s teen, virginal cunt. Her hymen doesn’t fight you as you ease your hips forward and tear through it, your thick crown slipping easily between her wet lips, your cock soaking itself in your daughter’s moisture as it pushes home and slides against her walls.  
  
          _“Daddy,”_ Nati whines, moaning, and the pleasure leaves you no choice but to moan with her.  
  
          _Gods_ is she hot inside, almost like a fucking oven. The heat and the moisture is what you feel most. She’s hot, but she’s also gushing wet, and you’ve no doubt that even if you pulled out right now, your cock would already be dripping with her pussy’s fluids. With the heat and the wetness, it’s a wonder there isn’t steam rolling out from her crotch. Her cunt grips you snug as you slowly start thrusting yourself through her, and you grab the curve of her flared hips for leverage as you claim her deep. Damn, Natalia is a bona fide _goddess._ Just the whole package from head to toe. A curvaceous bombshell _and_ a tight pussy. She said she’d give you the best pussy you’ve ever had, and fuck if she isn’t close.  
  
          You quicken your pace and start thrusting hard, clapping your hips into Natalia’s fat butt, her cheeks jiggling as you smash into them, and the good, hard fucking has Nati’s moans growing louder. “So good, Daddy,” she says, and she whips her head to flip her long hair up and out of her face. “So fucking good.” She peers over her shoulder and gives you this cute, meek look with her eyes. “Is it good for you?” she asks.  
  
          “Yes, sweetie,” you grunt, and in case your words aren’t enough to convince her, you make your thrusts harder, slamming into her ass, pummeling her pussy with your cock, and you give her rump a series of sharp, loving spanks that make Natalia squeak in a mixture of pleasure and pain. She likes being roughed up, and that’s good, because you’ve got plenty of aggression for her. “You like being my little slut, don’t you?”  
  
          “Yes, Daddy,” she moans.  
  
          A particularly deep thrust catches Natalia off guard, and her arms briefly wobble before giving out. Her upper body slumps down onto the bed, but her knees stand pat and stay put, and her back arches as she takes on a much more pleasing stance for your eyes. Head-down, ass-up. You move your grip from her hips to her ass and sink your hands deep into her cheeks, your fingers almost disappearing into her sea of furry butt-flesh. This is the one. This is the angle to finish it.  
  
          Nati seems to sense when you near your end, maybe from your quickened breath as you groan, or maybe from your quickened thrusts as you pound her. “Cum inside me, Daddy!” she begs. “Fill my pussy up, please! Empty your balls in me!”  
  
          “I’ve got a better idea,” you mutter. When the burning pleasure hits its peak heat and your final strokes are upon you, you pull your cock from her pussy only to push it right into the hole above it, stuffing your stiff, turgid prick into her virginal ass in one smooth stroke, and Nati cries out as her puckered little star is forced to swallow your thick, pulsing cock. Her tight rectum fights you every inch of the way, but her sloppy pussy’s wetness suffices well enough for lube, and you’re able to hilt yourself into her bum without too much difficulty, clapping your hips into her round rump one last time. With the tight sheath squeezed around it, it takes some effort for your cum to work its way up your cock, but it won’t be denied, and your member shudders and twitches as it dumps its load into your sweet, sexy girl. You groan loudly as your orgasm blanks your mind, your thoughts wiped out and replaced only by the total bliss of Nati’s tight ass as it squeezes you and sucks out your seed.  
  
          When the last of your pleasure leaves, Natalia’s bum is filled with your warm, white gift, and you pull out and collapse beside her into a near-numbed heap. Nati flips onto her back and wraps you in her arms and, of course, presses her bare, bountiful breasts into your side. “You’re such a stud, Daddy,” she whispers, closing her eyes as she rests her head against you. “I love you, Daddy.”  
  
          “I love you too, sweetie,” you whisper back.  
  
          Well, that’s it, then. Your mouse-girls are deflowered. They’re women now, in every possible way. The only thing left to officially make them your daughter-wives is to have them swear the Five Vows to you, but that can wait a day or two. There’s no need to hurry.  
  
          Gods, coming to this farm was the best decision you’ve ever made. It’s perfect here. No problems, no worries, just family and pleasure. It’s paradise. And nobody in Mareth could ever change that.  
  
          A harried pounding comes from the door. “Daddy,” a voice calls out. Kylie’s voice. “Daddy, are you in there?” she shouts hurriedly, pounding again.  
  
          “What do you need?” you ask.  
  
          “You need to come outside, Daddy.”  
  
          You lean forward. “What’s wrong?”  
  
          “There are people here.”  
  
          Natalia leans forward now too, and she looks to you with a worried expression.  
  
          “What kind of people?” you ask.  
  
          “Demons.”  
  
          You’re out of bed immediately, throwing on your clothes. Natalia moves to stand to her feet and join you, but you put your arm on her thigh and stop her. “Wait here, sweetie,” you whisper to her. “I’ll take care of it.”  
  
          She nods.  
  
          Kylie’s waiting for you on the other side of the door as you slip through it and shut it behind you, and you and her swiftly start down the hall.  
  
          “What kind of demons?” you ask as you walk to the front door.  
  
          “Imps, I think,” she says. “But not normal imps. Big ones. Vapula and Kian are talking to them at the edge of the farm. The biggest one said he wanted to talk to you. Kian sent me to get you.”  
  
          You and Kylie burst through the front door and hurry down the porch steps.  
  
          “Is everyone else in their houses?” you ask her as you briskly walk down the dirt path.  
  
          “Yes.”  
  
          You’re at the edge of the farm a minute later, where a tense confrontation seems to be occurring. In front of Vapula and Kian – who are both armed and stand tall, straight and wary – is a pack of six large, crimson-skinned imps.  
  
          All of the imps are shirtless, with muscular, hairless chests, but they all thankfully aren’t nude, and while some have the good grace to wear black trousers, others wear simple, immodest loincloths that do little to hide the shape of their large manhoods. Sprouting from each of their backs are vast, blood-red wings, but unlike the wings of Sophie, Kylie, and Vapula, the imps’ wings are featherless and fleshy. Bat-like. The imps’ eyes are red, beady and demonic, the _‘whites’_ of their eyes solid-black. They’re all bald-headed, but they all also have black facial hair, whether it be coarse stubbles or beards. The five imps in the rear stand in a line, some with their arms crossed, others with their hands on the hilts of daggers, swords, or clubs, but their stance seems more precautionary than aggressive. You don’t see any desire to kill in their eyes, but they’re demons, and they’re almost certainly ill-intentioned. The sixth imp stands in front of the others, a few inches taller than his underlings. He’s one of the three of them wearing pants, and his chest is undeniably the most defined of his brethren. His chin bears a pointed, black goatee, and his jaw and nose are strong and angular.  His eyebrows are sharp and incline downwards, giving him a near-constant look of cunning connivery and vile malevolence. You immediately recognize his face. He’s a lot bigger than when you first met him – now no shorter than you – but there’s no mistaking who this imp is. Zetaz.  
  
          His gaze turns to you when you step forward between Kian and Vapula, his eyes perfectly level with yours. “Been a while,” Zetaz says, and his red eyes come alight with devious excitement as they finally look upon you. His voice is somewhat deeper, and it now has an ethereal sound to it, almost shimmering in the air when it leaves his lips.  
  
          “You look different,” you note flatly. “Sound different too.”  
  
          He chuckles and nods. “I think we’ve both done a lot of changing since we last met,” he muses. “At least _I_ still use my name. You know, when I heard that a man who calls himself ‘the Father’ was making waves in Mareth, I’ve got to admit, you were the last one I would’ve figured to be that man. I mean, _you?_ Really?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “You’ve fallen _far._ From champion to reaver. From a man who guards his village to a man who rapes his own daughters.”  
  
          No one falls for the bait. You, Vapula, Kian, and Kylie all stand silent, unflustered, unfazed.  
  
          “I don’t rape my daughters,” you answer flatly.  
  
          “But you do lay with them, don’t you? This harpy here,” Zetaz begins as he points to Kylie, who stands beside Vapula, on your left, “She’s your child, isn’t she? She’s got your eyes. So, tell me, _‘Father,’_ how many eggs has she popped out for you already? Three? Two? Or maybe just one? Don’t get me wrong, I understand it. You’re corrupted. We both are. But you can’t have it both ways. There’s no gray area here. You can’t fuck your daughters and still think you’re a good father. It doesn’t work like that.”  
  
          “I keep my family safe,” you counter him, still not raising your voice. “And I give them love. _That’s_ being a good father.”  
  
          Zetaz laughs loudly, and the imps behind him titter. “Some might think his farm of your is more of a _cult commune_ than any kind of safe haven from demons,” he says.  
  
          “What is it you want, imp?” you ask him brusquely.  
  
          “Fine, fine, to the point then,” he says as the imps behind him cease their snickering. “I want two of your mouse-girls. Those mice-sluts are a rare sight in Mareth these days. It’s only fair you share a couple of them, considering you’ve got four.”  
  
          He knows the size of your family. He’s probably had some of his brethren watching you.  
  
          “I want the one with the big ass,” he adds, a half-smirk crooking around his lip. “I don’t care which other one you pick. You can even give me the mother as the other one, if you’d like.”  
  
          Kian turns his head and looks to you, but you don’t bother meeting his gaze. He has nothing to fear.  
  
          “And if I say no?” you inquire.  
  
          “Then I come back with twenty more imps and take _everyone,”_ Zetaz answers. “Every woman and every girl. This one here,” he says as his gaze again turns to Kylie. “This one would be my men’s favorite _real_ quick. Sexy young thing. I think I’ll give you a makeover first, girlie. You won’t be needing to fly anymore once you’re ours. I think, first, I’ll pluck every feather off your body, one by one, and then, when you're bald and pink like a human, I’ll lop off those wings of yours. Then I’ll string you up in chains and keep your legs spread while my men take their turns with you. But I’d be the first to fuck you, though. Just to make _my_ seed was what fertilized you.”  
  
          “I’ll kill you,” Kian snarls, his fists clenching on the hilts of his daggers.  
  
          “Kian,” you say as you hold your arm into his chest. “Stop. He wants to get a rise out of us.”  
  
          “Such long, pretty legs,” Zetaz continues, and he and his underlings’ eyes all run up and down Kylie’s figure, admiring her, practically drooling over her, and it’s enough to make your brow hot and your temper flare, but you keep your cool. “I bet you’ve got a tight pussy between those long legs,” he says, now looking to her crotch. “But it wouldn’t stay tight for long. You’d birth me some _strong_ sons, girlie. You’d birth ‘em fast too. Maybe I’ll even take you as my _personal_ pet. Make sure _my_ sons are the only ones you’ll be pushing out.”  
  
          “You’re just going to let him say that awful shit?” Kian barks at you.  
  
          “They’re just words, Kian,” Kylie says calmly, staring right back at Zetaz, stoic and unafraid. She’s too strong a girl to let a man like this give her any fear. You raised her better than that. “It won’t ever happen,” she adds.  
  
          “It won’t happen so long as your daddy shares his toys,” Zetaz growls, his smirk suddenly twisting into a scowl. He couldn’t keep himself from losing his temper forever. He’s too used to getting what he wants. Unfortunately for him, so are you.  
  
          You shake your head slowly. “I’m not giving you any of my girls. That’s not happening. Not now, not ever.”  
  
          “You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t you?” Vapula speaks up, glaring at Zetaz with unbridled scorn and disgust. “You might’ve made yourself taller, Z, but you’re still a little fucking twerp at heart.” She gives a quick tilt of her head your way. “You think he’s the only one that’ll make you regret coming here? You made a big fucking mistake.”  
  
          It’s comforting to see Vapula get so upset on your behalf. Succubus or not, she’s invested in this farm, in this family. She’ll defend it just as ruthlessly as you will.  
  
          “Just kill him,” Kian tells you. “Take his fucking head off.”  
  
           If only. The part of you that wishes you could break Zetaz in half certainly isn’t a small one. But magic in Mareth is a strange thing. It’s based on the intentions of the user, and it has very clear limitations. The only way it can be used to directly affect another being – affect their _flesh_ directly, and not simply their clothes or their hair – is with arousal. The only way to _harm_ flesh is with whitefire. Mareth magic is rooted in lust and debauchery, not violence. You can’t just snap someone in two. It takes more finesse than that. Well, finesse or fire. But there’s no guarantee that whitefire would neutralize Zetaz quick enough to stop him from being able to react and retaliate. No, attacking him here would be too dangerous. You’re not worried for yourself, but you are worried for Vapula, Kian, and Kylie. As capable as they all are, they could still get hurt. It’s a bad idea, plain and simple. Violence might be the answer later, but it isn’t the answer right now.  
  
          “You’ll regret not making this easy,” Zetaz tells you. “This was me offering to keep this clean. Now it gets messy.”  
  
          “Get the fuck off our farm,” Vapula snarls at him.  
  
          “You should listen to the lady,” you say to him.  
  
          Zetaz gives a final _hmph_ before turning away and taking flight. His underlings soon follow suit, and they all disappear into the horizon not long after.  
  
          No one breathes a sigh of relief when they’re gone. The air is still thick with the tension.  
  
          “What do we do?” Kian asks.  
  
          “I don’t know,” you answer. Words you don’t often say.  
  
          _“Hubby!”_ Sophie’s voice calls for you from far behind you, almost out of earshot. “Come quick!” she yells. “Kylie too!”  
  
          Gods above, what now? Can this day just end with some peace and quiet?  
  
          You, Kylie, and Kian all hurry back to the center of the farm, as Vapula stays put to continue her watch. Sophie’s waiting for you all at the top steps of your house’s porch, her bare belly sporting an early egg bump. “It’s happening!” she squawks, her half-sized wings flapping as she claps her hands in excitement. “Kylie’s egg is hatching!”  
  
          Kylie’s face slackens, her eyes widening, but she’s right on your tail as you hurry inside with Sophie in tow.  
  
          “In your bedroom,” Sophie says to you. Kian follows you to the bedroom door, but Sophie turns and stops him with a hand to his chest. “Only us, baby,” she says to him sweetly. “The little one will get scared if there’s too many people at the hatching.”  
  
          Kian looks disappointed, but he nods and heeds his mother, leaving you all to continue without him.  
  
          Inside your bedroom, you find Rebecc holding Lillian in her arms as she watches Kylie’s egg, which sits atop your bed, with that old pink blanket spread out beneath it. _Gods_ is the egg big now, though it certainly has to be to be able to house the toddler-sized harpy within. After Sophie, Kylie, and you file into the room, Rebecc heads out the open door, leaving you to be with your harpy family. As Sophie said, it’s best not to have too many people around the egg when it hatches. Kylie sits on the edge of your bed beside the egg and puts her hands against its lower sides, steadying it as it lightly shakes, while you and Sophie stand and watch. “Get your boobs out, Kylie, your girl’s gonna wanna drink _right away,”_ Sophie tells her, speaking cutely and singsongly, already getting in the spirit to welcome a new harpy toddler.  
  
          Kylie immediately follows her mother’s advice and sheds her sweatshirt and bra, bringing out her milk-swollen breasts, which you’ve no doubt have already rejuvenated despite her drinking from them earlier. There was nervousness in Kylie’s face just a moment ago, and though you’re sure her heart is still racing, she’s now smiling from ear to ear. She’s exhilarated, as you are, and how could she not be? She’s had so long to prepare herself for this moment. She rubbed the egg as it swelled in her belly, she gritted and beared the pain as she birthed it, and she cuddled it and kept it warm as it grew. Her motherly emotions and instincts have only intensified over these past weeks, and now they’re finally coming to a head.  
  
          Gods, it’s been too long since you last had a little harpy flying around. Kylie as a child was some of the most fun you’ve ever had, and though you aren’t sure anything will ever be quite like that magic of having your first child, you’re still thrilled to welcome your newest daughter.  
  
          Kylie gasps when the first crack appears on the egg, but another crack follows soon after, and then another and another, until the surface of the egg is more fractured than not.  
  
          “Can I help her?” Kylie asks, her eyes darting up and down the egg.  
  
          “Sure, baby,” Sophie nods.  
  
          The shell is a lot more brittle now than when it was first birthed, and Kylie easily pokes little holes into it with sharp jabs of her finger. She tries to pull the top of the rim off, but it still holds, and so she finds the as-of-yet largest hole and presses against its side with her finger, widening it. She flinches in shock when a wing suddenly shoots out from it and extends to full-breadth, and the color of it stuns you. It’s not golden like its mother or grandmother, but instead black as night, with feathers like that of a raven. It’s astonishing to see, but it’s _gorgeous._ And it’s full-sized too, as Kylie’s was, and you’re thankful that Sophie’s undersized wings seem to be a trait that didn’t carry on. You look to Sophie at your side, and her face seems just as surprised at the color of the wing as yours. You don’t think she’s ever seen a black-feathered harpy before. Your girl will be the first.  
  
          Kylie helps wear down more of the egg, until it’s battered enough for one of her girl’s talons to pierce it as a fluffy foot bursts through, again, black-feathered. Then, at last, it’s ready, and Kylie grabs the upper third of the egg and pulls it free with a series of shrill cracks. When the last of her cage is gone, the other girl’s wing joins the first in spreading free, finally stretching her extremities for the first time in her life. She’s healthy, as far as you can tell, and she’s a beautiful sight, with brilliantly black feathers from head to toe, with forearms and lower legs layered with fluffy down, as all young harpies’ limbs are. But her jet-black hair is strangely short, unlike Kylie’s, which was shoulder-length when she hatched and grew even longer very soon after. She sits on her bottom with her legs spread, and as your eyes briefly look to her crotch, you notice that between her thighs is a . . . that’s . . . that’s not a girl. That’s . . . a _boy._ A harpy _boy._  
  
After he shakes off a few pieces of the egg, your boy’s curious, brightly-gray gaze sweeps across the three other faces around the room, but all he finds are wide eyes and slack jaws, even from his own birthmother. But he’s unfazed, and he smiles as you looks over you all. When he looks to his birthmother again, his eyes catch on the pink nipples of Kylie’s bare breasts, and his black wings flutter happily as he crawls into Kylie’s lap and takes her teat into his mouth, and he suckles noisily as he eagerly drinks his first meal.


	7. We'll Fear No Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father feeds his demon wife, recruits new residents for his farm, and finally tests the full extent of his corrupted powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So "about a week away" turned into "a week and a month away." Sorry about that. I badly misjudged the length of these chapters (it was originally all one chapter). I also apologize for the six-month wait since the last update, but my writing muse took me to other erotic stories.
> 
> Returning readers should note that Chapter 2 has been improved significantly. Word flow was refined from front to back, and some new sexiness was added. Also, in my time away from "Our Father," I've decided that the story is going to be slightly more taboo going forward. The Father is going to be relaxing his strict age rules, and the story in general is going to be a bit naughtier. Also, I'm not going to shy away from violence when the plot calls for it. This extra zest might be noticeable in these two new chapters.
> 
> But that's enough of this prolonged note. I hope everyone enjoys the new chapters, and hopefully the extended wait will have been at least somewhat worth it!

          “Meek.”  
  
_Crack!  
_            
          “Humble.”  
  
_Crack!  
_  
          “Obedient.”  
  
_Crack!  
  
_           “In my presence, this is how you’ll always be,” you growl. _  
_  
          Vapula’s big, bare bum is burning from the spanking, with cherry-red handprints shining on her two vast, light-purple fields of flesh. Her wobbling ass has a delightful heart-shaped curve to it, and it’s all too easy to lose yourself in striking it again and again, watching the flesh of her fat ass ripple before your eyes. Your hand is stinging, and you know damn well that Vapula’s feeling it thrice as strong as you are. You have her bent over your bed with her back slightly arched, positioned like a proper bitch, head-down and ass-up. Her face is buried in one of your pillows, and every now and then you can hear a muffled groan come from it after a particularly sharp spank. That pillow has seen some truly awful things these past few months, hasn’t it?  
  
          You smirk as more aggression rushes through you. You clap each of your hands down on her ass and curl your fingers as far into her soft flesh as it’ll give, which is _delightfully_ deep. With your fingers nestled deep into her flesh, you grip her cheeks tightly and shake them up and down in your hands, making her flesh ripple from the motion. This is a wonderful ass right here. It isn’t obscenely large in size, but damn if it isn’t supple and juicy. It might be the best of any of your wives. If it isn’t, it’s close.  
  
          Gods, Vapula truly was your greatest conquest, wasn’t she? The once-great leader of the Demons of the Plains reduced to your servile bitch-wife, your personal fucktoy who busts your nut whenever you command it and takes your seed wherever you please to shoot it. She was the first demon you took into servitude, but she won’t be the last.  
  
          Another rush of horny anger runs through you, and you fling your hands up and out of the deep valleys in the flesh of Vapula’s ass you’d nestled them into. Then you bring them down again from the air, striking each of her cheeks as hard as you can manage.  
  
          To an unaccustomed eye, this here might look and sound like some sort of punishment. But it’s only the opposite. It’s a reward. You know each spank feels to Vapula like nothing less than thunderbolts of agonizing ecstasy. There’s more pleasure than pain, and the latter doesn’t feel much different to her than the former. You can see that with your own eyes. Between the heavy cheeks of her ass, under her tight, crinkled pucker, Vapula’s pink slit of a pussy is _obscenely_ drooling, dripping beads of wetness onto the carpeted floor of your bedroom, hyper-aroused by every swat of your hand.  
  
          Vapula’s a typical demonic painslut, and though her sadism can’t often be satisfied as your submissive bitch, her masochism certainly can be. Being spanked is some of the strongest pleasure you can grant your succubus wife, and as such, it’s a treat you reserve for only when you feel she absolutely deserves it. The words you’re growling at her between spanks are simply a means of attaching the proper emotions to the pleasure you’re gracing her with; you’re being such a good dom to Vapula _because_ she’s a humble sub, _because_ she’s your obedient slut, _because_ she’s sworn off her old life as a leader of her cute little band of demons to instead become your servile, pillow-eating bitch. That reinforcement isn’t truly needed at this point, but it’s still deeply satisfying to give it.  
  
          Vapula’s flesh is dotted with beads of sweat despite the relative coolness of the air of the room. You’ve got her worked up. As you swat her big, blushing-red bum from side to side for what must be the hundredth time, Vapula’s body tenses up, and her white-feathered wings twitch in bliss. Vapula’s cunt visibly contracts, not unlike how it moves whenever you instruct her to push out the river of cum you’ve filled her with after she’s lucky enough to have you give another shot at seeding her.  
  
          Vapula _is_ overdue for you to have knocked her up, isn’t she? It’s a shame you can only so often try to inseminate her. Being the special sort of demoness she is, Vapula has a very real need for your seed, and that need sadly doesn’t involve her cunt. But who knows, your succubus might have an early bun in the oven right at this very moment.  
  
          Now that you see you’ve gotten Vapula close, you decide to finish this reward and bring your succubus bitch to her end. You step closer and reach forward over her back, gathering a fistful of her long locks of smooth, black hair, enjoying the silky feel of it around your fingers. You slip your other hand under her heavy ass, towards her cunt, where you abruptly and violently begin diddling her pussy. That very moment wherein you first pinch and twist her clitoral hood, she cums. Her loudest groan yet reverberates outwards from her pillow, and you watch with a smirk as her wings beat wildly on her back, shedding a few stray feathers and striking your hair-holding arm as they flap and flutter.  
  
          By the time the last of her orgasm works its way through her, you’re achingly hard, and your cock is painfully straining against your pants. You’ve half a mind to shove yourself in Vapula’s sloppy, post-orgasm cunt and fuck her until you’re seeding her . . . but alas, she needs your cum elsewhere. It’s been a while since you last fed her.  
  
          You take your hand from Vapula’s pussy and use it to give her thick ass one last squeeze and spank. Then you yank her head from the pillow with a violent tugging of your fistful of her hair, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to pull anything from its root. You bring your lips to her ear and ask in a whisper, “Now, what do you say?”  
  
          “Thank you,” she meekly whispers back.  
  
          You tug her hair again. “Thank you _who?”_ you growl.  
  
          “Thank you, husband.”  
  
          Better.  
  
          “Are you hungry?” you ask.  
  
          “Yes.”  
  
          “How do you want it?”  
  
          “However you want,” she answers, not falling for your trap.  
  
          Well-trained bitch. Much meeker _in_ your bedroom than out of it, and that’s perfectly fine with you. It might even make this all the better, come to think of it. Vapula being so thorny and – ultimately futilely – resistant to your authority makes it even more primally satisfying when you bend her over and dominate her. It’d be significantly duller around here if you didn’t have her, that’s for certain. Sweet Kylie eagerly spreading her legs for you at a moment’s notice never gets old . . . but neither does this.  
  
          Hm . . . how should you feed her this time? You usually just recline in your lounge chair and have her suck you off while you close your eyes and relax, but . . . no, that’s too boring for today. You’re in the mood for some excitement. It’s time to switch things up.  
  
          “Flip over, lie on your back, and hang your head over the edge of the bed,” you command her.  
  
          When you step back, Vapula promptly does as you bid and lies on her back with her head over the edge closest to you. She pulls her long hair from beneath her, letting it cascade down your bed in shining, onyx curtains. Her violet eyes lock with yours as you unfasten your belt and tug down your trousers, and when you do the same with your breeches, your manhood springs free, already aching and throbbing with need, eager to be sheathed in any of the warm holes it’s become so accustomed to. Vapula’s upside-down gaze then instantly darts downwards – or _upwards,_ for her – and affixes itself to your stiff cock, where her eyes then flush with unabashed desire and hunger. And do you see a smidgeon of affection, as well? This _is_ the cock that feeds her, after all. The cock that sustains her. And it’s the cock that tamed her. Or, at least, made her as tame as she can be.  
  
          Vapula licks her lips, partly from a reflex of hunger, and partly to moisten them for her coming feeding. She’s eager to get you inside her mouth and work towards her meal. But she’ll have to wait. She needs to pay her respects first.  
  
          You grab your manhood by its base and hold it up and away from Vapula as you step towards her. Your pendulous balls swing just over her lips, and she immediately realizes what she ought to do. She knows the routine by now. She raises her head and takes one of your two orbs into her soft lips, suckling it and flicking her tongue across it. Little tickles of pleasure flare in your body, nothing intense, but pleasant enough to flush even more blood into your iron-hard cock. Once she has that nut polished off, Vapula drops it from her lips and shifts her attention to the other. A few caresses of her lips and laps with her tongue later, she has that one slicked with spit as well, and she then starts quickly alternating between worshipping each of your balls. She pops them in and out of her sucking mouth as she noisily slurps them, completely debasing herself like a properly shameless bitch.  
  
          To think that this woman was once your enemy. Now here she lay, serving you, polishing your balls, firmly in submission. That thought never ceases to thrill you. It’s not as thrilling as the act of deflowering and impregnating your oldest daughter was, but damn if it isn’t nice.  
  
          “That’s good enough,” you say to her.  
  
          Vapula lets her head droop back into its resting position and lets out a satisfied sigh, pleased with her work and pleased that you deemed it sufficient. She’s far past the point of clinging to any pride right now. She’s so close to finally getting your cock in her mouth, and she knows it.  
  
          “Pucker your lips.”  
  
          You give your aching manhood a few prepping tugs as your bitch does as you command, forming a little ‘O’-shape with her plump lips. You lower your cock and bring its thick crown to her mouth. You prod into her and push just far enough to slip the top half of your glans between her tightly suckling lips. Vapula immediately darts her tongue towards your cockhead and slips the tip of it into your crown’s slit, teasing your urethra. The sharp sensation draws a grunt from you and urges a thick bead of pre-seed out of your cock, which is instantly licked away. You reach for Vapula’s chest and use each of her busty, squeezable tits as handholds as you carefully push your crown in and out of her lips, thumbing her dark-purple nipples as you leisurely use only her moist, puckered lips to stimulate yourself. Eager to pleasure you and even more eager to feed, Vapula slides her tongue across your glans each time it pushes past her lips, prompting more warm tendrils of pleasure to swim through your core, as more pre-seed is lapped away by her tongue.  
  
          You finally take your next stroke past Vapula’s lips. You ease your hips forward and slowly push your manhood through her mouth, brushing it over the wet flat of her tongue until you’ve slotted every inch of your member into her. The angle of her head lets your cockhead push smoothly into her warm throat, and Vapula’s total lack of a gag reflex allow you to do so without drawing a single retch or flinch from her, even as your cock visibly bulges her throat. Vapula wraps her plump lips around your cock in a nice, tightly-sealed ring of suction that squeezes you with pleasure without impeding your thrusts. You keep your hips pressed into her lips and your balls draped over her face as you take a moment to savor the snug feeling of having your cock sheathed within your demon-bitch’s throat.  
  
          Ready to get started, you sink your fingers deeper into Vapula’s tit-flesh and squeeze her breasts tight as you ease your length out of her lips. When your crown is all that’s still suckled between her lips, you slam your hips forward again, and a wet, muffled _urk_ comes from Vapula’s throat as your cock shoves back inside it. You repeat that thrust, and then do it again and again in a smooth, leisurely cadence. You fuck her face with long, deep strokes, grunting as the snugness of her suckling lips and the wetness of her salivating mouth prompt pangs of warm pleasure to bloom in your gut. Vapula slathers your member with her tongue with every stroke, and her efforts soon have your cock soaked and shining wet from the sloppy sea of saliva within her mouth. When you bore of squeezing her tits, you take to sharply pinching her pink nipples, occasionally tugging the stiff little nubs, all while the sounds of her cock-sucking grow wetter and lewder.  
  
          As you play with her nipples, it occurs to you that they aren’t quite the shade of pink you remember them to be. They’re . . . darker. Still pink, but . . . definitely darker. It’s a coloration you’ve seen before. It’s the same one you saw in Kylie’s nipples, after you’d impregnated her with Hugo. Could it be? Thankfully, with your abilities, there’s an easy enough way to find out. All while you’re still pumping your hips and thrusting your member through her suckling lips, you reach past Vapula’s breasts and touch your open hand down on her flat belly, just below her navel. Right as you cast out a feeler of your thoughts, sure enough, you sense something: _life._ You’ve impregnated her.  
  
          That familiar but intense feeling of fatherliness flushes through you. Your cock swells thicker and harder as your heart whose beat pounds in your brow sends south more and more rushes of hot, lustful blood. With that lust comes more anger and aggression, twisting your expression into a lecherous scowl. You release Vapula’s nipple and start roughly slapping her tits, making the supple flesh of the sizable, shapely orbs jiggle in waves as a treat for your eyes. You hasten the pace of your hips and fuck her harder and faster, forcing those muffled _unh_ s and _urk_ s to be louder and quicker. Vapula takes quick breaths through her nose, but the speed of your thrusting leaves only small fractions of time where your cock isn’t inside her throat and choking her airflow.  
  
          Fucking her in this fury, it doesn’t take long for your pleasure to build to its boiling point. A molten bliss slowly swirls inside you, brewing your rich seed, preparing your body for yet another explosion of ecstasy. Your lust burns hot beneath your flesh, dotting your body with beads of sweat. You shift your hands down to your crotch and grab ahold of each side of Vapula’s head, and you hold her perfectly still as you start hammering your hips into her mouth, pounding your cock through her plump lips and slamming it into her warm, squeezing throat to the tune of more wet _slurp_ s as you skull-fuck her for all she’s worth. You don’t give a fuck that she can hardly breathe, because right now, she’s nothing more to you than a tight, wet hole to unload your seed into, just as _all_ your wives become when you’re in the _very hottest_ of that heat of the moment. Whether it’s Kylie’s tight, wet pussy or Natalia’s warm, snug pucker or this demon-bitch’s plump, puckered lips, in this moment, when you’re about to blow, these women are your playthings, and nothing more.  
  
          You let out a long, loud groan when your gut tightens and contracts, prompting that molten bliss to suddenly shoots upwards through your prick. You thrust your manhood to the hilt inside Vapula’s throat just as it starts twitching and shuddering, firing off huge spurts of sticky cum directly down the depths of her throat, filling her long-empty stomach with the sustaining seed that it hungers for. Vapula tightens her puckered lips and pulls them inwards against the base of your cock, sucking out more of your seed, strengthening the flow of your massive load and drawing more and more thick, rich spurts that no doubt have her stomach swimming with a gooey white.  
  
          When the contractions in your gut finally start lessening and your cock’s twitches become sparser, you regain the presence of mind to make a satisfying show of this. You pull back your hips a short ways, leaving only your cockhead and a few inches of your shaft still sealed between Vapula’s lips and allowing the final few ropes of cum you shoot off to smother her tongue, granting her a good taste of the salty gift that she’s now digesting. When the last of your bliss finally fades into nothing, you pull out the rest of your cock, and you lightly flinch when your sensitive member slips free from your bitch’s snugly-sucking lips to the sound of a soft _pop!_  
  
          As soon as you’re out of her mouth, Vapula gasps quick, deep lungfuls of breath, taking in as much oxygen as she can. You step away from her and admire your handiwork; the saliva that cakes Vapula’s face, the redness of her slapped-silly tits, and the streaks of runny mascara that gravity took upwards along her forehead. You would note that she’s blue in the face from you choking her with your dick for so long, but with the similar hue of her purple skin, it’s awfully hard to tell. Once she’s breathed enough air to calm the nerves that have been screaming for oxygen, Vapula gives a long, low moan, utterly gratified by the meal you’ve just fed her, which truly felt to you to be the largest meal you’ve ever given your cum-vampire bitch. Knowing from experience exactly what you want her to do with the cum you left on her tongue, Vapula opens her mouth and starts noisily gargling, giving you a show of the sea of whitish bubbles in her mouth as she savors the strong taste of the seed that her tongue is swimming in, all while staying mindful not to drool away a single drop. After she correctly presumes that you’ve had enough of that show, she takes in another long, satisfied breath before finally swallowing one final time, taking down the last of her meal in one big gulp.  
  
          “What do you say?” you ask again with a wide smirk.  
  
          “Thank you, husband,” Vapula whispers, holding her eyes closed as she savors finally again having the feeling of a well-filled stomach.  
  
          You decide to not yet reveal her impending motherhood to her, and so you say nothing of it when Vapula finally rolls out of bed and onto her feet. With much to do today, the two of you begin quickly dressing yourselves, though you do manage one last sharp, ass-jiggling spank to Vapula’s big purple rump before she pulls her pants up, which draws a flustered yet pleasured huff from her. When she unceremoniously turns away and starts towards the bedroom door, you grab her arm and stop her.  
  
          “Forgetting something?” you inquire.  
  
          With her back to you, Vapula falls still. Then, suddenly, she spins towards you and takes you into an embrace, draping her arms over your shoulders and resting her wrists around the nape of your neck as she tilts her head and plants her open lips onto yours. She takes you into a deep, passionate kiss, showering your lips and tongue with affection no different than any adoring housewife would. It’s such delicious humility from a woman who once wished you death. Vapula has already thoroughly gulped her tongue clean of the remnants of her meal, and you don’t get any taste of yourself as you kiss her. Not that you would’ve minded much if you did. You’ve done much worse depravities than tasting your own seed.  
  
          When she feels she’s done her part, Vapula starts to pull away from you, but you reel her back in with your arms and recommence your kiss, asserting your authority over her. You forcefully claim her lips and tongue, and Vapula sighs and lets you have her. It’s only when _you’re_ done and bored of her do you release Vapula and extend her out in your arms, glaring into her eyes.  
  
_“Now_ you may go,” you tell her. “Go switch shifts with Kylie.”  
  
          You turn Vapula by her shoulder and send her on her way with another swat on her ass.  
  
          You follow her out through the door of your bedroom but pause and let her go on down the hall without you.  
  
          How many pregnant wives is that now? Three, right? Sophie’s belly has finally swollen again, Whitney is carrying her first child of yours – or first child _ren,_ rather – and now, yes, Vapula’s the third. That’ll be at least four or five new little ones running around, or, for some, _flying_ around. It’s a good thing you elected to not yet make your mouse-girls into mothers. Had you done that, this influx of children in the near future would go from _‘hectic’_ to _‘absolute insanity.’_  
  
          You stride through the hall and into the second door on the left, into the kitchen. You find Kian standing with his back to you as he takes a glass cup from a cupboard and fills it with the tap from the sink.  
  
          “Hey,” you say to him, smiling.  
  
          Kian looks to you over his shoulder as you approach. His eyes strangely bulge a bit with fright when sees you. He hurriedly turns the knob by the faucet and shuts off the tap, but before he can move, you greet him with a pat on his shoulder. He gives a pained, hissing wince, his body tensing and clenching.  
  
          “Are you hurt?” you ask with one eyebrow raised as he turns and faces you, hovering one of his hands over the shoulder you’ve just touched.  
  
          “No,” he says with a grimace, his snubbed, mouse-nose twitching in pain. He’s lying.  
  
          Your smile sours into a scowl. “Take off your shirt.”  
  
          “Dad, it’s nothing.”  
  
          “Now!” you bark.  
  
          Kian huffs and rolls his eyes, like any stubborn teenaged son would, but he nonetheless obeys. He sets the glass of water on the countertop, and he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it over the back of the nearby chair. Sure enough, your eyes find that his left pectoral and shoulder are wrapped with white bandages darkened with blotches of red blood. You grimace when you see it. It looks like it smarts something awful. _Gods_ do you hate seeing your children in pain. It always summons a tempest-like swirl of emotions in your chest, the most of prominent of which is always an intense, searing _anger._  
  
          “When were you going to tell me?” you ask him, your voice low and furious.  
  
          “It’s no big deal,” he tries to assure you. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”  
  
          “Did you tell any of your mothers?”  
  
          “No. They would’ve just gone and told you.”  
  
          Your right hand snaps forward and grabs his jaw. “From now on, you will come to me as soon as you get hurt,” you growl at him. “That’s not a suggestion, Kian. That’s an order. And you _will_ obey it. You understand?”  
  
          Shame fills his eyes as he nods.  
  
          You take your hand from his jaw. You begin gently peeling away his bandages, but not with your hands, as they’re now blunter and less precise than your power is. You keep them levitating in the air when they’re off him. Kian winces when the last one starts to come free, as it clings to him with fresh, sticky blood. The wound’s worse than you thought. His short, purple fur is marred with a series of four deep cuts, all bright-red and slowly oozing blood. The result of a swipe from some sharp claw, it seems. Kian didn’t even try to stitch them. They would’ve taken months to heal on their own, and the flesh would’ve probably never been the same.  
  
          “Idiot,” you grumble under your breath.  
  
          You raise your right hand and touch it onto Kian’s chest, prodding a finger into the flesh between each wound. Then, with a simple series of a few commanding thoughts, you direct a warm energy to your fingertips, where it seeps into Kian’s chest. His wounds then begin slowly but surely sewing themselves shut. They’re serious wounds, and it takes a great deal of energy to mend them, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.  
  
          A pair of footsteps tap on the floor through the doorway behind you.  
  
          “What happened?” Whitney asks.  
  
          You and Kian turn your heads. Whitney stands there with wide eyes, stricken with horror. Her massively swollen belly lurches at her midriff beneath her maternity shirt, a swell that houses _at least_ two unborn puppies, and maybe even three.  
  
          “I’m handling it,” you assure her softly. “Give us some privacy.”  
  
          Whitney hesitates.  
  
          “Go on. I’ve got it.”  
  
          Whitney finally nods. She turns away and leaves.  
  
          “Kian, listen,” you begin as you look towards him again, “There’s no shame in getting hurt, alright? It’s part of hunting. Sometimes you bite off more than you can chew. Happens to the best of us.”  
  
          “It was this dragon bitch, in the jungle,” Kian mutters. “Never seen anything like her. She taunted me, and I . . . I fucked up. I lost my cool. And I thought I’d win. But I won’t let it happen again. I just . . . I got used to it being easy, was all. Should’ve kept challenging myself.” He pauses and laughs weakly. “I got lazy. Kept going back to fuck those shark-girls by the lake. Have you felt them, Dad? Inside them, I mean?”  
  
          You smirk as you briefly glance up at him. “Yeah, I have.”  
  
          “Fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles.  
  
          “Just make sure you let me heal you next time this happens,” you advise him with a fatherly softness. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You don’t need to suffer through some fucking needless pain. Okay?”  
  
          “Okay. I won’t do it again.”  
  
          “Promise?”  
  
          “Promise.”  
  
          You glance up at him again, meeting his eyes, and give him a comforting smile.  
  
          You aren’t even winded by the time the last of Kian’s broken flesh seals shut and the last of his spilled blood fades away. More of a jog than a sprint. That would’ve exhausted you had you done it when you first came to this farm and made it officially yours. The Lethicites are making you unbelievably strong. There might truly come a time where there’s nothing you can’t do, and with what you have planned, you may be finding out later today if that’s indeed a possibility. And if it is, you’ll be making it happen.  
  
          You give Kian a few firm pats on his freshly healed chest. He doesn’t wince. You grab his shirt and hand it to him. As he pulls it over his chest, you snap your fingers and incinerate the floating, bloodied bandages in a small blaze of white flames, turning them to gray ashes that you then shift and drop into the nearby weaved-wood wastebasket.  
  
          “And Kian,” you begin as you cross your arms, “I wanted to ask you something.”  
  
          “Yeah?”  
  
          “If we had women here for you, would you use them?”  
  
          “You mean, like . . .”  
  
          “To fuck.”  
  
          He pauses and furrows his brow. “You mean like . . . someone in the family?”  
  
          “No. Someone outside of it. If I brought women here and kept them on the farm for you, would you make use of them?”  
  
          “Are they hot?”  
  
          You chuckle. “I’d make sure they were, yes.”  
  
          “Then fuck yeah I would.”  
  
          “So you can get off with a willing woman?” you ask, seeking clarification.  
  
          “Yeah. I’ve done it plenty. There’s this shark-girl by the lake that comes to me every time I show up. Runs up to me as soon as she sees me.”  
  
          Kian has a shark-girl lover? . . . But that’s beside the point. It’s good to hear that Kian could make use of a harem, because a harem is exactly what you’ve been plotting to create.  
  
          “Go get your things from your mother’s house,” you order him. “Wait outside the door for me. I’ve got some things to take care of outside the farm today, and I want you to come with me.”  
  
          “Really?” he asks. His eyes light up with excitement. It’s not often that you have him accompany you when you leave the farm.  
  
          You nod. “Yes. Go on. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”  
  
          He turns and darts off.  
  
          You go to the counter and drink the glass of water empty, and a cool rush follows it as it descends inside you. You then set the glass into the sink and leave it there for one of your many wives to scrub. You walk to the far end of the kitchen and leave through the doorway on that side, bringing you back into the main hall. You take a few steps to the doorway on the opposite side of the hall and walk through it, into the living room.  
  
          Kylie’s already swapped with Vapula. She’s sitting on the carpet with crossed legs next to Rebecc and Lillian, with various-colored toys and building blocks strewn out in front of them. Though it takes you a moment to see him with Kylie having her back to you, you soon spot Hugo sitting in her lap.  
  
          With your approval, Kylie keeps Hugo’s head of thick, black curls parted from the side and cut shoulder-length. It’s a good look on him. The jet-black of his hair matches well with the similar black of his feathers, which shine with a brilliant, bluish sheen in the sunlight. He still doesn’t look much older than the seemingly five-year-old he hatched as. His face is more lean and angular than round and chubby, just as his mother’s was at his age, but he’s still very distinct from how Kylie looked. You’re curious to see which parent he’ll take after more in the months to come. And he’s of course an adorable sight, with the kind of cuteness that tempts you to tense your jaw and grit your teeth as you grab him and squeeze the life out of him. His eyes are the same striking gray as yours and as all your children, eyes that can convey immense joy and searing fury equally vividly. _Gods above_ is Hugo going to be an imposing sight when he’s grown. Even more so if he ends up as tall as his mother, or, damn, as tall as you. And he’ll be more than just a _‘sight.’_ He’ll be a _force._  
  
          Hugo has your gift, and he has it to strong. It was him in his egg that had broken that vase. Thankfully, he hatched with a good handle on his power, and he never uses it by mistake. Occasionally he’ll lash out with it when he throws a tantrum – a nightmarish event when a little boy _doesn’t_ have his gift, and a _hellish_ one when he does – but he’s been throwing tantrums less and less lately. You scold him whenever he does, but you never strike him. You saw firsthand years ago just how badly that kind of punishment can be misused, and you swore to yourself you’d never do the same to your own children.  
  
          But for Hugo to have his power _and_ those great big wings on his back . . . there’ll be nothing he can’t do, and better yet, no one he’ll ever fear. You’ve often wondered how you should go about naming an _‘heir’_ to take your place should something ever happen to you, and now Hugo may likely turn out to be that heir. He wouldn’t take your place as the father of your children or as the husband of your wives, but he’d take your place as the man who oversees this family’s safety, the man who ensures its prosperity. And what a fitting heir he would be. A man that could descend upon a woman from a cloudy sky like a black bolt of thunder, or drift from the clear heavens like an angel answering those in need. With his body and his gift, Hugo can be whatever he wants. He can _do_ whatever he wants.  
  
          But how the fuck did you manage to sire a harpy _son?_ Is the corruption really so strong in your blood and Kylie’s that you’d so drastically twist and warp the genes of a child born in an all-female race? But, no, that can’t be it. It’s not that simple. You’ve seen corrupted harpy slaves birth imp sons to their demon masters, but you’ve never once seen a harpy birth a _harpy_ son. That’s a first for your eyes, and as far as you know, it’s a first in the history of Mareth. Your corruption isn’t quite like that of the demons in Mareth. It’s . . . unique. Unique to you and only you. You’ve always said to yourself that you’d change Mareth forever by the time you’re done with it, but . . . holding Hugo in your arms and _seeing_ that change with your own eyes . . . it’s incredible. You’ve got no idea if the second child Kylie births you will be another boy, but you’re going to make her a mother again and again regardless of whether she gives you sons or daughters.  
  
          As for Lillian, your littlest one, she looks to be about three months in age now, growing only slightly quicker than a human infant would in your old village of Ingnam. And that’s of no issue to you. You always wished you had more time with Kylie as a sweet little girl running and flying and laughing, and so you have got no problem with Lillie staying young and innocent for however long she’ll take. Gods know there’s more than enough twisted, freakish things in this world – shit, in a lot of ways, you’re one of them – and Lillie will be a refreshing break from that.  
  
          Lillian’s dressed in onesie pajamas. Hugo is shirtless and wearing trousers. They’re both playing with the same assortment of big, colorful building blocks. Lillian is simply drooling on them and happily raising them up and down. Hugo is smartly stacking them into the shapes of homes, with cube foundations and pyramid rooves. He’s already a sharp mind. But that’s no surprise. Kylie was the same.  
  
          Hugo leaves Kylie’s lap to lay on his belly closer to the box of blocks, happily kicking his legs back and forth in the air. Kylie picks up one of the green cubes and holds it out in front of him.  
  
          “What color is this, Hugo?” she asks.  
  
          “Green!” he swiftly burbles.  
  
          “And how do we spell green?”  
  
          “G-R-E-E-N,” he says as he continues building little homes to his little heart’s content.  
  
          “Very good!” Kylie praises him.  
  
          Unlike how his birthmother was before him, Hugo has no hint of a lisp to his voice, nor any manner of childlike mispronunciations. He speaks sharp and clear. He’ll be a commanding orator when he’s grown. Just like his father.  
  
          You leave the doorway and come closer to them. Rebecc smiles at you when she sees you, but when you hold your forefinger vertical over your lips, she stops herself from vocally greeting you. You want to nab Hugo by surprise.  
  
          Just as you get nearly close enough to grab him, Kylie and Hugo happen to reach out for the same red cube, and right as Kylie’s hand touches it, an unseen force violently flings her arm away.  
  
          _“Mine,”_ Hugo growls as he glares at Kylie.  
  
          Kylie’s eyes widen, astonished. She’s not yet sure how to forcefully assert herself as a mother, but that’s alright, because you know how to forcefully assert yourself as a father.  
  
          “Hugo!” you shout at him.  
  
          Hugo and Kylie whip their heads towards you.  
           
          You lift Hugo from the carpet with that same force he just flung his birthmother’s arm with. You set him onto his feet inches away from you, where you glower down at him. It’s important to remind him that he’s not the only person here with his gift. When he goes too long without remembering that, he gets brazen and insolent towards his mothers. A child who thinks no one has authority over him is bad enough, but a child who thinks that while having powers like Hugo’s is far, far worse.  
  
          “ _No,_ Hugo,” you tell him sternly, staring into his gray eyes. “You do _not_ hit. If you don’t want her to take a block, you tell her _nicely._ You do _not_ hit. You do not hit _anyone_ on this farm. Understand?”  
  
          Shame and sorrow flash in his eyes. He nods. His wings twitch as his mouth begins to quiver, but he holds back his tears, and his eyes don’t water.  
  
          That’s another peculiar thing about Hugo: he does everything he can to stop himself from crying, even though you and Kylie have assured him that there’s no shame in shedding tears every now and then, boy or girl, and that it’s not a good idea to bottle up emotions. He’s a sharp contrast from the crybaby his mother was when she was young, but Hugo has a good reason to hold back his tears. It’s another effort of his to mimic you, one of _many._ Hugo fastens his belt with exactly the same smooth motion that you do, he eats his meals – his solid meals, that is – exactly as you do, and he walks in your shadow behind you at any chance he gets. He wants to be just like you, in every way he can. And crying isn’t like you.  
  
          “Apologize,” you order him.  
  
          Hugo turns away and walks towards his birthmother with his body deflated in shame, his head hung, his shoulders drooping, his arms limp at his sides. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he says softly. There’s true regret in his voice. But that’s not enough.  
  
          “You’re sorry for what?” you ask, unsatisfied.  
  
          “For hitting,” he clarifies.  
  
          Kylie holds out her arms for him. Hugo readily climbs back into her lap and rests his head under her chin.  
  
          “I forgive you, sweetie,” Kylie assures him with a kiss to the top of his head.  
  
          “He’s probably just hungry,” Rebecc notes as she hands Lillian a block she was reaching for, who then promptly starts mouthing and drooling on as much of the block as she can, which isn’t much, as it’s far too large to be a choking hazard. “He’s been behaving well all day before that,” Rebecc adds. “And it’s been a few hours since he nursed.”  
  
          “Are you hungry, Hugo?” Kylie asks as she lovingly runs her hand along his cheek.  
  
          Hugo looks up at her and nods sweetly.  
  
          Kylie grabs him by his bottom and heaves him up with her as she stands to her feet. Hugo wraps his legs around Kylie’s hips as she goes and sits in the nearby rocking chair. With Hugo in her lap, Kylie pulls off her sweatshirt and unstraps her bra, freeing her breasts to fall with a fleshy bounce. Kylie cradles Hugo’s head as he lay across her, and Hugo of course needs no assistance in finding her teat and taking it between his lips. The chair starts softly creaking as Kylie rocks gently and cups the back of his head.  
  
          That’s still a strange sight, seeing your teenaged daughter breastfeeding your toddler son, the boy whose egg she birthed you, the boy whose egg _you_ put inside her. But it’s not strange in a bad way. It gives you a rush of an odd blend of twisted thrill, primal satisfaction, and fatherly affection; a rush that’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You’re already impatient to start the process anew. You’re eager to have Kylie bear and mother another child for you.  
  
          And, just as she always has, Kylie does you proud in her new role as a mother. You’ve assured her that she’s free to let Sophie take primary breastfeeding duties for Hugo, as she would gladly do it, but Kylie insists on doing it herself. Despite her youth, Kylie is already quickly proving herself to be one of your most genuinely motherly wives. Affectionate, understanding, patient . . . she’s never struggled. Hugo can be a handful at times, especially considering that gift he inherited from you, but Kylie almost never needs your assistance with him. If something were to ever happen to you – which you’ll make damn sure it doesn’t – you’re confident that Kylie would do just fine raising Hugo without you.  
  
          “I’m heading out with Kian,” you announce to the room. “We should be back by dinner, but I can’t promise it. Might be later tonight.”  
  
          Rebecc and Kylie nod.  
  
          “Alright,” Rebecc says.  
  
          “Where’re you going?” Kylie asks with a curious tilt of her head. She affectionately scratches the soft feathers between Hugo’s wings as he nurses.  
  
          “To that old rat on the lakeside,” you answer with a pointing gesture behind yourself, in the direction you’re speaking of. “Going to have that chat with him that I’ve been meaning to have. And I’m also going to see if I can’t get a certain someone for that new barn Whitney finished the other day.”  
  
          You approach Kylie and gently grab her chin, directing her eyes upwards to meet yours.  
  
          “Take a bath in the tub downstairs while I’m gone,” you instruct her firmly. “I want you fresh for tonight. And if we’re not home for dinner, be in bed, and be ready for me.”  
  
          “Yes, Daddy,” she says meekly, speaking with that tone of sweet obedience that she knows you love to hear.  
  
          Hugo looks from Kylie to you with curious eyes as he busily feeds from the teat between his lips, his cheeks swiftly and repeatedly hollowing as he voraciously guzzles his birthmother’s milk. He’s none the wiser to the meaning of your words. You chuckle as you cup his soft, feathered cheek. You turn away from them and start towards the doorway, and as you near it, you hear an unusually loud creak come from the rocking chair.  
  
          “Daddy?” Hugo chirps.  
  
          You turn around. Hugo stands in front of you, looking up at you with dewy eyes and a dribble of milk on the feathers of his chin.  
  
          “Will you hug me goodbye?” he asks sweetly as he raises his arms.  
  
          You chuckle and use your thumb to wipe the milk from his chin. You lean down and pluck him from the floor with one hand under his bum and the other against his back, and he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his head against your jaw as you take him into a firm, snug hug.  
  
          “I love you, boy,” you mutter as you squeeze him tight.  
  
          “I love you too, Daddy.”  
  
          _Gods_. . . to think that you’ll be able to feel this fatherly joy endlessly for the rest of your days, with child after child. What a life this is. This is worth every suffering you’ve ever weathered. It’s worth _every_ cruelty you endured from that man in your old world, and _every_ hardship you’ve fought through in this new one. Without a fucking doubt. And you’ll _die_ before you let this family fall. _Without a fucking doubt._  
  
          . . .  
  
          The warm afternoon sun shines down on you and Kian from the cloudless sky. The vast, motionless lake is on your right, and green, grassy fields are on your left. The two of you pass a pack of tiger-girls basking nude in the sun on the sand of the lake’s beach, but when one spots you, it informs the others, and they all hurriedly flee into the water and swim away. Kian watches them as they go.  
  
          “How do you manage to get anyone when you hunt?” he asks, glancing at you. “They all run away when they see you.”  
  
          “I catch them by surprise,” you answer plainly. “Like I did with that goblin girl. And I don’t have to get them in arm’s reach to grab them.”  
  
          Kian nods. He looks towards the lake again, where the shark-girls were basking. There’s a wistful look in his eyes.  
  
          The old rat’s tent soon comes into view. It’s a large tent, not anywhere the size of a home, but big enough to make up a sort of bedroom with a decent amount of shelf and storage space. It likely took the old coot the better part of a day to put together.  
  
          When you’re only about thirty yards from the tent, you stop where you stand and grab Kian’s shoulder and turn him to face you.  
  
          “Listen, when we’re in there, let me do the talking,” you tell him. “Alright?”  
  
          “Should I wait outside?”  
  
          “No, you’ll follow me in. I want you behind me. Be intimidating.”  
  
          Kian grins and nods. “Nice. Right away? Or when should I start?”  
  
          “When I say the words ‘my Lord.’ Got it?”  
  
          “Got it.”  
  
          You pat his shoulder and start forward again.  
  
          Unfamiliar smells waft in the air as you near the tent. Smells of potent potions and heady herbs. You soon hear the sound of something boiling as well. When you and Kian push open the flaps of the tent and walk through them, you see that that tent has the same furnishing of a large workspace that it had when you last visited long ago. The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with thick tomes, curious artifacts, rolled scrolls, and small pots with soil housing various mushrooms and flowers. There’s a small bed-nest of straw and blankets in the far corner, but almost every other inch of floor space is a maze of low-standing tables adorned with tools and utensils and pots and pans and yet more knickknacks and curiosities. At the far table is the old rat standing with his back to you, looking over a pot of boiling water as he mashes something with a mortar and pestle. He’s very evidently a man of great, advanced age, and he damn near looks a cripple. His back is markedly hunched, bringing his head near his center of gravity. His fur is a dusky gray mottled with white, and he has no hair atop the fur of his scalp. He wears a tattered, patchwork robe, an unsightly hodgepodge of fabrics not unlike what your family used to wear not too long ago.  
  
          “Razul,” you call to him, speaking loud enough for him to hear you over the furiously-boiling water.  
  
          He looks over his shoulder, and when his eyes find you, he spins around and faces you, still holding the mortar and pestle in his hands. “Erm, yes?” he calls back tentatively. His voice is scratchy and raspy – as always – and you can hardly hear him over the water.  
  
          “Put a lid on the pot,” you instruct him as you add a matching gesture with your hands.  
  
          “Oh, yes,” he mumbles.  
  
          Razul hurriedly silences the boiling with a lid and sets the mortar and pestle on the counter. He turns to you and Kian again and takes a few steps closer, to the next table that stands between you and him.  
  
          “Been a while, hasn’t it?” you muse.  
  
          He nods. “Yes, it has. I feared you may have fallen victim to some hooligan and become a . . . servant. And you . . . you look different.”  
  
          “Fatherhood changes men.”  
  
          He nods again. “So it does. Yes, I’ve heard you go by ‘the Father’ now.”  
  
          “You heard right,” you confirm as you start leisurely walking through the maze of tables towards him. You suddenly and sharply raise your forefinger as you near him. “But that’s not how you’ll address me,” you add. As you draw nearer and nearer, his gaze is forced to turn higher and higher to be able to meet yours. “From here on out,” you begin once you’re finally standing before him, towering over him, “You’ll address me as ‘my Lord.’”  
  
          A sharp, repeated hissing of metal fills the tent from behind you. You glance over your shoulder and see Kian sharpening one of his two daggers with a rod of honing steel. Well done.  
  
          When you look to Razul again, you see him watching Kian nervously, and his throat shifts as he gulps. Such a fearful little man. “As you wish,” he says.  
  
          “That’s my son Kian,” you note as you watch your boy with the rat. “My oldest son.”  
  
          “He . . . he looks like—”  
  
          “—Amily. She’s his mother. If you were wondering where she’d vanished to, that’s where. Amily is my wife. _One_ of my wives. She was my second. Or was she my third? Fourth? I can never remember,” you muse with a low chuckle. “I’m losing track.”  
  
          Razul’s nose twitches.  
  
          You put two fingers to the side of his jaw and firmly turn his head, returning his eyes up to yours. “But don’t make assumptions of me, Razul,” you tell him as you glare into his gaze. “I am no demon. I am not of any kind. There is no one walking this world that’s like me, so you’ll do best to not try to _pigeonhole_ me into some _little category of men.”_ The last few words left you with a tone of blatant disgust. There’s very few things more offensive to you than the thought that you could be compared to any other man. There’s no one else like you. You’ve made damn sure of that.  
  
          “Whatever you’re assuming right now that I came here to do, discard it,” you continue, still glaring at the old rat. “I did not come to hurt you, though I certainly could. I did not come to rob you, though that was certainly enticing. And I absolutely did not come to fuck you, of which I assure you there was _zero_ temptation. Now, Kian is my oldest son, but he is not my only child. He’s one of many. I believe that when we last spoke, I only had Sophie and my little darling Kylie, isn’t that right?”  
  
          Razul nods.  
  
          “Well, I’ve sired quite the family since then. I have a family of fifteen now, with more little ones on the way and more wives I’ve yet to take. But there are wrinkles that come with having a large family. When one of my children fall ill, others fall after them. All three of my mouse-girls are sick in bed today with a fever. I don’t believe it’s life-threatening, but they’re still suffering, and that’s reason enough for me to act.”  
  
          You turn away from the rat and walk towards the nearest bookshelf. You grab the pot housing a blooming, violet flower with a white inner stem – a nightshade by the looks of it, maybe? – and rotate it in your hands.  
  
          “I know how to heal wounds,” you muse. “It’s a simple affair. I simply direct the torn flesh to sew itself whole, and just like that, it heals itself. But . . . I cannot heal sickness. I’ve tried. And I’ve failed. I don’t know what to direct. I don’t know how to tell the flesh to cast off what ails it. Maybe I’ll never know. Or maybe it’ll always be beyond me.”  
  
          You set the flowerpot down and turn towards Razul again. At the opposite side of the tent, Kian has now switched to sharpening his other dagger.  
  
          “That’s why I’ve come here,” you explain as you return to the rat and again tower over him. “You’re going to come live on my farm. I need someone like you. You’ll be more for me than a medicine man. I need a man with booksmarts. A learned man. A scholar. Someone who can help me devise plots that I wouldn’t other otherwise think of. You’ll be of great service of me. And this life won’t be without its rewards. You’ll be safe on my land. Never again will you be forced to hand over a large amount of your items to some wandering bandit or demon. Never again will you fear for your life or your body when you’re awaken in the night by a burglar. That’ll all forever be in the past. And Razul, I greatly respect men of value. You won’t be mistreated. You’ll be appreciated. I’ll have you live in great wealth, if that’s what you desire. And I’ll have you sated by gorgeous women, if you desire that. I plan to very soon acquire women for my farm to entertain those who _aren’t_ me, and you’ll be entitled to them as well.”  
  
          Razul looks from you to Kian and back again. “Do I have any say in this?” he asks quietly.  
  
          “Funny you ask that,” you say with a smile as you raise and lightly shake your hand. “I was just about to explain that to you. Razul, I’m giving you two choices here. They’re not _fair_ choices, but they’re the only ones you’ll be given, so you ought to listen closely.”  
  
          You glance towards Kian and give him a wordless nod. He gets the message and ceases his sharpening and sheaths his dagger. You lower your head closer to Razul’s level and stare into his eyes.  
  
          “Here are your choices,” you utter. “You will either agree to my proposal and move to my farm on the lakeside and become our resident man of science, at which point you will start packing your things immediately and be ready for my son Cain to come help you with the move at hour-past-dawn tomorrow, _or . . .”_ You pause and prod your forefinger between his eyes. “I will twist you and warp you until you’re the _perfect little servant,_ at which point you will do _everything_ I just said, and you will do it _completely devoid_ of your original free will, with your old mind _snuffed from existence.”_  
  
          Silence.  
  
          “Hour-past-dawn, was it?” Razul asks.  
  
          You grin and nod. “That’s right.”  
  
          “I’ll be ready.”  
  
          “Great!” you say cheerily. You give Razul a friendly pat to his shoulder and stand straight again. “And don’t worry, you’ll still be free to do everything you do here. You can run experiments to your heart’s content. I encourage you to. But if one of my children so much as sneeze, you’ll be whipping up a cure for them moments later. Or at least something to ease their suffering.”  
  
          “Very well.”  
  
          “Very well _. . .?”  
_  
          “Very well, my Lord,” he corrects himself.  
  
          “That’s better.”  
  
          You nod again and make your way through the maze of tables back towards Kian. When you’re standing at your son’s side, you glance towards the old rat one more time.  
  
          “Oh, and one last thing,” you call out to him. “Don’t try to flee tonight. I’ll find you if you do. And then the old you dies.”  
  
          You grab Kian’s shoulder and guide him out of the tent with you.  
  
          . . .  
  
          It takes you longer to find your way to the ruins than you’d hoped, and it’s already sunset by the time you and Kian are taking your first steps through it. Kian looks from side to side with wide eyes as you both walk through this wasteland that was once a village. The cold, half-standing ruins of home after home go by as you stride down a cobblestone road that’s partly overturned. The village’s old signposts have been plucked from the earth and lay on their sides. You never got the chance to see what this village looked like when it was still standing. It was destroyed well before you stepped through the portal into this world.  
  
          “The fuck happened here?” Kian asks in awe.  
  
          “Lethice happened.”  
  
          He turns his head towards you. “Why?”  
  
          “They stood up to her. She made an example of them.”  
  
          He falls silent for a moment. “What if she wants to make an example of us?”  
  
          You look towards him and meet his eyes. “Let her try. In a few minutes here, I won’t fear anyone ever again.”  
  
          “What’s happening in a few minutes?”  
  
          You don’t answer that, because you don’t know the exact answer yourself.  
  
          “Do you remember when I told you that there’s always someone stronger than you in this world?” you ask him.  
  
          Kian nods.  
  
          “Well, I’ve got a feeling that, by the end of the day, that won’t be true for me any longer.”  
  
          You let him ponder that thought as you turn your head forward again.  
  
          A moment later, you and Kian are approaching the one thing that still stands in this village, the one thing Lethice and her army couldn’t tear down: the village’s cathedral. It’s a building of white marble that shines in the sunlight, almost untouched in appearance, weathered only with age.  
  
          “Why didn’t she tear this down?” Kian asks.  
  
          “She can’t touch it. Can’t even go inside. No demons can. I don’t think Vapula would be able to go in either.”  
  
          It seems to have been a long time since anyone has entered it, because the rusted hinges of the right of the cathedral’s large double doors stick shut as you push your forearm into it, and it takes an extra bit of force to swing it open and get inside. Kian follows close behind you. The massive hall inside is at least a hundred feet tall, and yours and Kian’s footsteps echo eerily in the deathly quiet as you walk the long aisle. The wooden pews on each side of you two are abound with cobwebs, and there’s a faint but unmistakable stale scent in the air from the layers of dust.  
  
          At the center of the end of the aisle just in front of the podium and lectern is what you came here for. There kneels a nude, gargoyle angel, a winged woman of blackish stone with her head bowed and her long, solid hair cascaded over her face, completely obscuring it. Her wings are folded tightly behind her curvaceous figure, her knees are together, and her arms are crossed over her substantial bust, a pose of total submission that still affords herself decency. Her body is youthful in appearance, not as young as a teenager, but a young woman all the same. Were she a villager in Ingnam, you’d guess that she’s in her early twenties.  
  
          The angel’s left ankle is cuffed with a thick, steel shackle that, by the works of the strong magic it’s enchanted with, remains stubbornly free of the dust that covers everything else in this hall, including the gargoyle it’s coiled around. Her shackle is linked to a long chain that’s firmly rooted into the marble tile right at the base of the lectern behind her.  
  
          “What’s this statue?” Kian inquires as he walks closer to it.  
  
          “She’s a gargoyle.”  
  
          He briefly glances at you, giving you a confused look. “It’s a person?”  
  
          “Sort of. Her name’s Valerie.”  
  
          “She looks like she’s made of stone.”  
  
          “She is, right now. She’s in a slumber.”  
  
          Kian reaches for Valerie’s head and runs his fingers over her smooth, stone hair. “How do we wake her up?”  
  
          “Used to be that you would’ve just done it right there. When I last came here, any touch would awaken her. But with her approval, I managed to put a charm on her that made it so only my touch would. To make sure nobody that came here could hurt her or abuse her.”  
  
          “‘With her approval?’” Kian quotes you with a smirk and a look of disbelief. “Since when do you care about getting someone’s approval for something?”  
  
          You chuckle. “I was a very different man when I was last here. Kylie wasn’t born. I don’t think I’d even met Sophie yet. I wasn’t ‘the Father’ then. I was ‘the Champion.’ And I had a name. I held different morals than I do now. I was _‘pure’_. . . for all the good that ever did me.”  
  
          Kian paces around Valerie, and his eyes soon naturally fall to her backside as he gets a good look at her shapely rump. “So you’ve talked to her? What’s she like?”  
  
          “Humble. Selfless. Submissive. She’s a servant. I don’t know if it was Marae herself who made her, but she seems to have been made to be the embodiment of virtue. She’s the walking, talking example of the kind of person the people who once lived here aspired to be . . . until Lethice destroyed their homes and took them as slaves.”  
  
          You pause and nod thoughtfully as the rest of the memory of your long talk with Valerie returns to you.  
  
          “And Valerie was mournful of that when I met her,” you muse somberly. “She told me that some of the villagers had managed to flee into here when Lethice’s army descended on them, but after days passed and they needed water to drink, some of the men had went out to see if the demons had left. They hadn’t. Those still in here heard those men cry out as they were taken. After that happened, the remaining villagers considered simply dying of thirst, but with Valerie’s encouragement, they decided to take their chances and run for it. Valerie doesn’t know if they made it to safety, but she does know that none of them ever returned to her.”  
  
          Kian looks up from Valerie and swallows audibly, his lust snuffed out by the horrors he’s just heard.  
  
          “Valerie is a _chaste_ servant, mind you,” you remark. “Virginity is one of Marae’s virtues, after all . . . but that chasteness is going to change when we bring her back with us. And we’ll be keeping that a secret from her until we get home, if you hadn’t figured.”  
  
          “But she’s chained to the floor,” Kian says. “How are we gonna take her? And why’s she even chained down anyway, if she’s a selfless servant?”  
  
          You shrug. “That, I truly don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe it’s some metaphor for holy shackles of servitude? Your guess is as good as mine. I didn’t make her, I didn’t put her here. And Valerie doesn’t know the answer either. She doesn’t know any more about herself that I haven’t just told you. She wasn’t created with any pool of knowledge, nor with any memories.”  
  
          “Can you break the chain?”  
  
          “I couldn’t last time. It’s enchanted with the strongest magic I’ve ever encountered. But this time, I’m gonna put everything I’ve got into it. Should be interesting.”  
  
          You stride forward and stop when you’re standing over the gargoyle. “Come stand behind me,” you instruct Kian as you point your thumb over your shoulder. “Five paces behind, one pace to the side.”  
  
          He does as you say.  
  
          You reach down and, at last, rest the palm of your hand on Valerie’s forehead.  
  
          At your touch, the angel’s body shifts with a single, visible wave. As that wave moves outwards from the center of her chest, the hard, blackish stone of her form shifts into soft, whitish-gray flesh, only a few shades grayer than the flesh of a mortal woman who had never stood in the sun. A pinkish-peach color comes to the nails on her fingers and toes, and though you can’t see it with her arms held as they are, you know from before that her nipples are given that same color. When that wave of life flushes through her hair, her locks regain their lively silken texture, and instead of taking on the whitish-gray of her living flesh, they shimmer into a reddish strawberry-blonde. When the wave finally goes through her angelic wings, they flush into their natural white as the appendages reflexively spread and their feathers splay, briefly stretching to their full, massive extent before returning to their resting state.  
  
          After a long breath audibly fills and then leaves her lungs, Valerie raises one of her arms and gently brushes her hair from her face. She peers up at you with eyes of irises as clear and white as fresh snow. Her face is gorgeous and lean, with sunken cheeks and prominent cheekbones, and with a straight nose and thin but girlish lips. Those lips curl into a warm, relieved smile as her raising cheeks narrow her eyes with affection.  
  
          “My champion,” she whispers. “How long have I slept?”  
  
          “A long time,” you answer as you cup her cheek and give her a smile of your own. “Much has happened since I was last here, Valerie. I am so much more than I once was. And my title is no longer ‘Champion.’”  
  
          “What is it now?”  
  
          “‘Father.’ _‘The_ Father.’”  
  
          “You have children?”  
  
          “I do,” you say with a nod. “And I’ve even brought one to meet you.”  
  
          You take your hand from her cheek and slowly pace three steps backwards from her, widening her vision, allowing to see Kian, who stands at your side and a little behind you.  
  
          “This is my son, Kian,” you explain. “He’s one of my nine children, and I’ve got even more on the way.”  
  
          Valerie stands up from her knees. She’s about six feet tall or so, roughly the same height as Kian. She lets both of her arms rest at her sides, feeling no need to hide her sizable breasts nor their peach nipples in your company. And with her on her feet, you and Kian can plainly see the reddish, ungroomed bush at Valerie’s crotch, something that won’t remain as it is when you return home with her.  
  
          “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Valerie greets Kian softly, still smiling.  
  
          “The pleasure’s mine,” Kian says with a courteous nod and elegant bow. Smooth.  
  
          Valerie’s smile only brightens. “I’m so happy for you,” she says as she looks to you again, her words dripping with honeyed kindness. “There’s no greater joy for a man than fatherhood.”  
  
          “Believe me, I know,” you say to her. “But I didn’t come here just to tell you that. I’ve come to do what I said I’d do so long ago. I’m going to free you, Valerie. And best of all, I now have a new family for you, new souls that you can attend to and new children that you can care for. I can return you to what you were meant to be.”  
  
          Valerie’s eyes light up. “Can you truly do it?” she asks. “Can you truly free me?”  
  
          “We’re about to find out.”  
  
          You reach for the satchel strapped to your belt and withdraw what you seek into one of your hands. You can only just barely fit the three brilliant, purple crystals between your fingers, and so you wield your thoughts and gently lift them from your palm and into the air. Valerie gazes curiously at the crystals as they float before you.  
  
          Kian tilts his head. “Are those . . .?”  
  
          “Your sisters,” you confirm with a slow nod. _“Alaya . . . Averie . . . Natalia._ Such _beautiful_ souls.” You briefly glance towards Kian. “Just as beautiful as yours. I’ve never tried consuming three at once, and I didn’t want to try it at home. I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’m a little nervous, honestly. And if I’m going to destroy whatever walls are standing around me, I’d rather them be the walls of this cathedral than those of my house.”  
  
          “Destroy the . . .? Dad, maybe you should do this out in an empty fuckin’ field or something?”  
  
          “Don’t worry. I’m warding the three of us right now. You’ll be fine.”  
  
          Truthfully, there may indeed be some danger in this, but what you don’t mention to them is that the small nervousness twitching inside you is dwarfed by a massive, giddy excitement.  
  
          But eating these things isn’t too enjoyable, and there’s three crystals here that you’d have to quaff. Thankfully, you’ve already thought of a better way to do this.  
  
          With a snap of your fingers, the three crystals are each simultaneously pounded into a burst of fine, glittering powder, which you then gather into one joined cloud of what you can only describe as stardust. You then make a wafting gesture with your hand and direct that stardust to flow through your nostrils as you draw a deep breath, inhaling the powder to the very bottom of your lungs. You hold that breath there for no fewer than five seconds.  
  
          Very suddenly, a pure, unbridled agony is set ablaze in every nerve in every inch of your flesh, and every last one of your muscles contracts as tightly as they can manage. Your stiff-as-a-board body starts slowly but surely falling backwards, but you manage to regain control of your limbs and turn just in time to catch yourself with your hands right as you hit the floor, stopping your face from smacking into the marble by just inches. The fire in your body only burns hotter and hotter, searing your flesh from within, and you can’t stop yourself from crying out in pain.  
  
          You ball up your fists and pound them on the marble floor. Right after they hit it, every pew in the hall loudly shatters into a thousand little splinters of wood that fling outwards in all directions, and the splinters flung at you and Valerie and Kian are deflected away only by the imperceptible ward that you hold firmly around you all.  
  
          The fire still burns in your veins, and it forces a long and loud groan up and out of your lungs. As that breath leaves you, a sharp fissure bursts from the marble of the floor beneath you to the sound of a hollow, thundering crack, and it spirals outwards in a dozen different directions, stopping only when each crack travels five or so feet up the walls.  
  
          Then just as suddenly as it began, the agony vanishes from your flesh. You’re flat on your belly, breathing deeply and dripping with sweat. You plant the palms of your hands into the floor and slowly push yourself upwards, first onto one knee, and then onto your feet. You wipe the spittle from your lip as you turn and face the others.  
  
          “Well then,” you mumble with a scratchy voice before deeply clearing your throat. “That was . . . an experience.”  
  
          Kian stares at you with bulging eyes. “Dad . . . that . . . that was _fuckin’ awesome!”_ he cries out with a wide grin as his boyish excitement boils over. “You’re like a fuckin’ _demigod!”_  
  
          “I feel like one too,” you admit with a nod, grinning with him.  
  
          “That was incredible,” Valerie utters, watching you wide, awed eyes.  
  
          “Could you tell that your eyes were glowing?” Kian asks.  
  
          “They were?”  
  
          “Uh, _yeah!”_  
  
          “What color?”  
  
          “The same color they always are. Just a lot fuckin’ brighter.”  
  
          You look to Valerie and gesture for her with a raising motion. “Come to me,” you instruct her.  
  
          She does as you bid and steps closer, and you put your hand to her breastbone and stop her right as her chain is about to be lifted from the floor by her growing distance from its root.  
  
          “Stay there,” you say as you walk past her.  
  
          You get onto one knee by the root of her chain. It’s a steel bolt that looks impressively thick, but the metal isn’t the strongest force that’s keeping it there. There’s something else. A strong magic, of what origin you aren’t sure. Its origin matters little now. Whether the spell was weaved with good intentions or not, you intend to overpower it.  
  
          You grab the chain link closest to the belt and tightly wrap your fingers around it. You take a quick breath, and then, with much more strength coming from your mind than from your arms, you yank upwards with every ounce of energy you can muster and fully exert everything all those Lethicites have ever given you.  
  
          The chain sticks for a moment as you pull it taut, until it then breaks with a deafening snap. You keep the presence of mind to use more energy to keep your feet planted on the ground to resist the blowback of your own force. As soon as the chain comes free, the cathedral deafeningly detonates around you into large, numerous chunks of marble that are flung high into the air and make craters in the surrounding earth when they plummet and crash down, all while plumes of kicked-up dust mist the air almost too thickly for you to see the extraordinary destruction you’ve sowed . . . but no, you can see it, and it’s not even close to being like anything you’ve ever seen in all your days living.  
  
          The last chunk of marble falls to the earth just to the left of where the cathedral’s east wall once stood. Feeling suddenly winded – no less exhausted than you’d feel if you had just sprinted around the world – you stand to your feet and wipe that trickle of blood from your nose. You snap your fingers in what you hope is the final time tonight, instantly clearing the air, distantly scattering the dust. When it’s all gone, you see the last of the sun slipping away on the horizon as it ducks below the world. You turn on your heel and find expressions of both awe and terror on Kian and Valerie’s faces.  
  
          You burst into an almost manic fit of laughter.  
  
          “Our family is going to be something special,” you muse with the widest grin of your life.  



	8. Turn or Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Father establishes a pleasure house for his sons and again dominates his firstborn daughter in what soon becomes his wildest night yet.

           _Hours later,  
_  
          The sun is already long gone when you all finally return to the farm. Kian keeps pace with you at your right, Valerie at your left. The moon, as bright as it is, isn’t enough to let you all see where you’re walking, and so you’ve been lighting the way with a small wisp of bright whitefire that you keep hovering overhead.  
  
          When you arrive at the front door of the house at the edge of the farm, farthest down the dirt road from yours, you turn and face the others.  
  
          “Go on in,” you say to Valerie as you nod to the door. “There’s light inside. Get a good look at your new home. I think you’ll be happy with it. I need to talk with Kian out here for a moment.”  
  
          Valerie nods and smiles. She tucks her wings as she opens the door and heads inside.  
  
          “What’s up?” Kian asks after the door closes behind her.  
  
          You cross your arms and clear your throat. “You’ve been thinking about that shark girl,” you remark. “The one that you said runs to you when she sees you. And don’t try to deny it. I’m your father. I notice these things. I don’t have to look inside your head to see it.”  
  
          “Uh . . . yeah,” he concedes in a mumble. “I have been.”  
  
          “Is she your age?”  
  
          “Yeah. A little younger than me.”  
  
          “What’s her name?”  
  
          “Alexria.”  
  
          “That’s pretty. Is she good-looking?”  
  
          “I wouldn’t have fucked her if she wasn’t,” he says with a smirk. “I mean, she’s not _out of this world,_ but . . . I like her. A lot. I like her hips and her legs and . . .” he trails off and pauses as his smirk widens. “And her pussy.”  
  
          That draws a knowing chuckle from you. “Was she a virgin the first time you fucked her?” you inquire. “Did you deflower her?”  
  
          “Yeah. She bled a little.”  
  
          “They sometimes do,” you say with a nod. “Has anyone else fucked her?”  
  
          “No. She told me she doesn’t let any other men near her. And I hadn’t even asked her it when she told me that. We were just relaxing together for a little while after I fucked her when she blurted that out. She said she stays off the beach unless she sees me. And . . . I’m glad she does. I don’t want anyone else touching her. I like knowing that I’m the only man that’s fucked her.”  
  
          You nod again. “An understandable desire. Did you rape her the first time?”  
  
          He shakes his head. “No, not really,” he says. “I mean, I was forceful, and she did try to stop me at first, but when she realized I was stronger and that I wasn’t taking no for answer, she let me take her. I mean, shit, at that point . . . she acted like she wanted it. She spread her legs for me before I could force them open, and she wrapped them around my hips, even though I didn’t tell her to. And . . . she kissed me when I came. It was . . . weird. I wasn’t expecting her to be so . . . affectionate.”  
  
          “The shark women respect strength,” you muse. “They respect dominance. If you’re a man and you get the upper hand against one of them and rape them, there’s usually just three things that could happen. First, they might think it was a fluke and think that you won by some simple, correctable mistake of their own, regardless of whether that’s true or not. That’s the most likely outcome. They’re a prideful lot. Another possibility is, they’ll realize you’re stronger, but they don’t think you’ll make a good father. That could happen too. And the last possibility is, they realize you’re stronger, and they cherish you for it. They start fancying you, and they bond with you. They want you to take them as your beta, and they want you to father their children.”  
  
          “Wait, so . . . I’m . . . her alpha?”  
  
          “Not yet. Not until you take her home.”  
  
          Kian furrows his brow. “She’s never told me to take her home.”  
  
          “It’s not her place to tell you, Kian. The beta doesn’t tell the alpha to take her home. The _alpha_ tells the _beta_ they’re _going_ home.”  
  
          Kian hesitates.  
  
          “Bring her to the farm. Make your first wife,” you urge him. “Why not? You took her virginity. You’re the only man that’s fucked her. You said yourself that you like shark-girl’s cunts. This way you won’t even have to leave your bed to fuck one. You’ll have a wife right beside you. I can have Whitney get on making you two your own home, but you’ll have to wait until after her pups are born. I don’t want her doing any construction now that she’s so far along.”  
  
          “You’d let me bring her home?”  
  
          “Of course, Kian.”  
  
          Kian falls silent. He’s still hesitant.  
  
          You pace away from him as you try to think of how best to voice your thoughts on this. It doesn’t take you long.  
  
          “You’re a man now, Kian,” you muse as you turn and face him again. “And a man needs a wife. He needs someone sharing his bed. He needs someone keeping him warm on a cold night. And he needs a soothing voice when he’s troubled. This girl, Alexria, she’ll love you if you let her. So have her be all that for you. Have her be all that and more.”  
  
          Kian gulps and nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll go get her tomorrow morning.”  
  
          “And don’t worry,” you add as you return to him and pat his shoulder, “She won’t expect you to be monogamous. Alphas don’t tie themselves to just one beta. You’ll still be free to reave and rape all you want. And whenever you happen to be too tired to hunt, she’ll be there for you. She’ll be ready – and eager – for you.”  
  
          You walk past Kian and go to the door.  
  
          “Dad?”  
  
          You look over your shoulder. “Yeah?”  
  
          “I’m glad you’re my father.”  
  
          You smile at him. “And I’m glad you’re my son. Now come on. You’ve got clean sheets to christen.”  
  
          You snap your fingers and extinguish the whitefire wisp. You turn the knob and push through the door. Kian follows you inside.  
  
          The interior is exactly as you instructed Whitney to fashion it as: a home for a harem. Red, silk curtains hang over every window, and the lush, feet-hugging carpet is of a similar shade, though it’s closer to crimson than red. The interior is lit entirely from the numerous, ornate lanterns mounted on the walls, each of which are ornate and bejeweled with brilliant rubies that glitter dazzlingly in their candlelight.  
  
          Past the wide entry room that’s furnished only with a few chairs for waiting is a slender hall with a single sliding door on each side. Each door opens into rooms designed for complete privacy, should that ever be what your sons desire when they patronize this place. At the end of the hall is the largest space in the house: a magnificent lounge dotted with numerous, frameless beds wrapped in black sheets and made up with silk, brightly-red bedcovers. Pillows stuffed with soft cotton also dot the floor, and some of which are large enough to lie atop, and thus also to fuck atop. There are a few tables set against the walls, and each are variously adorned with gold-cast goblets, unopened bottle of red wines, and bowls of fruit.  
  
          Most everything in here was purchased from the Capital, Tel’Adre, via several trips back-and-forth by Kylie. You spared no expense in those purchases, and you don’t begrudge that. Your past journeys and ongoing _‘expeditions’_ in Mareth have allowed you to amass a sizable amount of wealth, and it was an easy decision to spend a portion of it on a place where all of your current and future sons can enjoy themselves. It’s a pleasure house fit for Princes.  
  
          You’ve also got plans for another room to be constructed and added to this place, a sort of mini-bathhouse with plumbing to allow quick and easy wash-ups without needing to leave and walk – or fly – all the way to lake. They certainly won’t be cleaning themselves in _your_ tub in your house’s basement. You don’t want women walking past your young children with the stench and stains of being well-fucked lingering on them.  
  
          Valerie is here in the lounge, and she turns to you and Kian when she hears you. You walk to her with a smile.  
  
          “This place is beautiful,” Valerie says, mirroring your smile.  
  
          “It sure is,” Kian agrees with a knowing grin.  
  
          “I need to speak with you about something, Valerie,” you tell her.  
  
          “Yes?”  
  
          “Firstly, you will address me as ‘my Lord’ from now on.”  
  
          Her smile is unfazed by your request. Servitude is her nature, after all. “As you wish, my Lord,” she says amiably.  
  
          You nod, satisfied. “Valerie, you wish to serve my family, don’t you?”  
  
          You already know what her answer will be, but having Valerie say it aloud and having those words be _immediate_ will serve for what’s to come.  
  
          “Of course, my Lord,” she assures you.  
  
          “Valerie, though you may not know it, you have a wonderful gift that I’d like for you to share with my sons.”  
  
          She slightly tilts her head. “Oh? What is it?”  
  
          She’s truly bewildered by your remark. Adorable.  
  
          Your answer comes bluntly. “Your body.”  
  
          “My . . .?”  
  
          “Have you ever lay with a man, Valerie?”  
  
          Her smile leaves her, chased away by an expression of surprise. “No,” she says with a short shake of her head. “It was never asked of me.”  
  
          Those must’ve been some chaste men in that village. Or perhaps they feared some godly retaliation. A fear you don’t share.  
  
          “Are you opposed to it?” you ask.  
  
          “I . . . I’m not sure if I was . . . made . . . to sate men.”  
  
          You leave Kian’s side and walk closer to her. “And why not? You’re a servant, Valerie. A _graceful_ servant. You improve others’ lives, and you do it gladly. What makes this any different?”  
  
          “I . . .”  
  
          You’re standing before her now.  
  
          “Look down, Valerie,” you instruct her, speaking with a tone that’s soft but commanding.  
  
          Valerie obeys. You grab the side of her upper chest. Her eyes then follow your hand as it travels downwards along her wide curves, inwards at her slender waist and then outwards at her flared hips. When you’re at her left leg, you shift your hand over her smooth inner thigh, to her crotch, where it then climbs over her firebush, past her flat stomach, and up to her large yet immaculately perky bust. You cup her left breast and gently bounce it in the palm of your hand.  
  
          You lower your head next to Valerie’s and brings your lips by her ear. “Look at your _beauty,_ Valerie,” you whisper. “Look at the _perfection_ of your flesh. Imagine the pleasure this flesh could bring a man.”  
  
          You glomp your fingers around Valerie’s breast and squeeze it gently, admiring the lovely combination of firmness and suppleness. As you do, you brush her hair behind her ear with your other hand and start kissing her neck, first with only feather-light touches, and then with open, sucking lips that are sure to leave a mark on her pale flesh. It’s not long before your efforts have the angel drawing deep, husky breaths, with her half-folded wings twitching behind her. You feel an aroused heat flushing within her breast. You reach your other hand around her waist and under her ass. You sink your forefinger into her bush and dip it into the warm folds of her wet cunt. Valerie starts mewling sweetly and softly as her arousal grows too strong to bear.  
  
          This certainly puts to rest your wondering of whether Valerie is a woman as capable of lust and arousal as any other. You’ve got her sweating.  
  
          “I’m giving you more purpose than you’ve ever had,” you continue. “I’m giving you the privilege of bringing joy to my sons. A joy _like no other._ Where is the shame in that, Valerie? Where is the sin? I don’t see any.”  
  
          Suddenly, you remove your hand from her breast and your lips from her neck, and you take a step back from her. Valerie shudders as her body is abruptly abandoned by the passionate touches she’d just begun to lustfully lose herself within. She looks upwards, to your gaze. Her snowy-white eyes are simultaneously dewy with innocence and alight with the unmistakable desire to receive more of your touch.  
  
          “Do you?” you ask.  
  
          “No,” she whispers with a slow shake of her head.  
  
          You grab her chin and tilt her head slightly upwards, forcing her eyes to lock with yours. “Then say that you will sate my sons. Say that you will always do as I command.”  
  
          “I will,” she professes fervently. “I’ll sate them. I’ll do everything you ever command.”  
  
          “Then heed these words. When my sons come to you, Valerie, you will pleasure them however they see fit. If they rouse you from your stone slumber to have you pleasure them, you’ll do it without objection. If they rouse from your natural sleep, you’ll do it then as well. And if they use your body while you sleep, you’ll wake up glad that they’ve left that warm gift inside you. Do you understand?”  
  
          “Yes, my Lord.”  
  
          “Good.”  
  
          With that, you snap your fingers and finally shear Valerie of her unwieldly bush, leaving only a sexy, heart-shaped patch of red hair above her vulva. The sudden shave – at which Valerie did not flinch – reveals her slit, paper-cut thin cunt to your eyes.  
  
          Kian appears at your side. His eyes greedily drink up the sight of your gift to him and admire his personal angel from her head to her toes, from her full breasts to her lovely curves and finally to her virginal, slit pussy that you’ve made helplessly drool with desire.  
  
          You point over Valerie’s shoulder. “Now go to the bed behind you,” you command. “Lie on your back and spread your legs. Open yourself to my son. Give yourself to him.”  
  
          She immediately obeys. She turns and goes to the bed and flips aside its covers, and after she crawls into it, she rolls onto the flat of her back and scoots upwards, creating space below her. She rests her head atop a pillow, allowing her to watch the two of you with lustful eyes. She then spreads her legs wide, and after she does, she lowers a hand to her crotch and uses two slender, girlish fingers to part the puffy folds her pussy, opening her little pink flower to yours and Kian’s gazes, revealing its shining wetness.  
  
          Kian starts to take that first step towards him, but you stop him with a hand on a shoulder as you lean towards him.  
  
          “Keep in mind that this is a woman who will now be living with us,” you tell him in a whisper too quiet for Valerie to hear. “She’s not some goblin mark that you’ve hunted in the thick of the woods. She’s a part of our family. I’m not asking that you get her off. That’s not your duty. She’s here to serve you. I’m simply asking that you not be cruel. You can be as passionate as you please, but I do not want you mistreating her. Understand?”  
  
          “Yeah,” he whispers back with a quick nod. “I get it.”  
  
          You pat his back. “Good. Now go on. Enjoy her. Make her yours.”  
  
          He needs no further encouragement after that.  
  
          Kian starts stripping as he walks to the bed, casting off his articles of clothing piece by piece, revealing more and more of his lithe, fit body of outwardly visible muscles that stand beneath his short, purple fur. When his breeches are finally tugged to the floor, his pink, human cock and two furry balls flop free, the former of which is throbbing and looking stiffer than you’ve ever seen it.  
  
          It’s good that Kian has never taken issue with you watching him fuck, because he always makes a damn enjoyable show. He does not lack his father’s lust, that’s for certain.  
  
          You follow behind Kian, but you do not join with him as he crawls into the bed. Instead, you reach for the fruit bowl on the nearest table and grab the largest, reddest apple from it, a serviceable substitute for your missed dinner. You turn towards the bed again and take the first bite with a loud, crisp crunch as you watch what comes next.  
  
          Kian lowers his head between Valerie’s legs, and he brushes away her spreading hand and lets her pussy return to its resting slit as he starts deeply kissing it. He kisses and tongues it just as passionately as he would were it the lips of her other mouth. His snubbed mouse-nose doesn’t get in his way, and he has no difficulty slipping his somewhat long tongue deep into Valerie’s slick slit and soaking it with her abundant fluids. You wonder if her pussy has the same addicting, nearly-sour taste as a mortal woman’s, or if it instead tastes of something more angelic, like the sweet, sugary nectar of a blooming flower. You’re not sure which you’d prefer.  
  
          Kian reaches his tongue deep inside Valerie’s flower, getting a good taste of the lubricants layering the walls of her virginal tunnel. Valerie grabs tight fistfuls of the soft white sheets beneath her and breathes whimpering moans, flushed with pleasure she’s never felt. Kian only strengthens his efforts from there. He plants his mouth onto her cunt and starts noisily sucking her clitoral hood and flicking his tongue within it, tickling her sensitive little nub. Valerie’s whimpers sharpen.  
  
          When he bores of eating her pussy, Kian ends his meal with one final, long lick that runs from the bottom of Valerie’s slit to the top. She’s shuddering again when he raises his head and gets onto his knees. He wraps his hand around the base of his sizable prick and guides it to its imminent home, to the blooming, unspoiled flower that it’ll soon be plucking. He prods his crown against the bottom of her slit, at her entrance, but he stops there and pauses. He reaches up with his other hand and grabs the nape of Valerie’s neck. He raises her head upwards, forcing her to sit up, bringing her face close to his, with their lips only inches apart. Kian glares into her eyes, and Valerie doesn’t shy away from his intense gaze.  
  
          “Tell me to tear up your virgin pussy,” he growls at her.  
  
          Kian truly is his father’s son, isn’t he? You can easily imagine yourself making a similar demand . . . but Kian’s own individuality shows in his words as well. His aggression and lust have a different flavor than yours. They’re cruder, blunter. _Lewder._ They’re a delight to hear.  
  
          “Tear up my virgin pussy,” Valerie obediently pleads, as a true desire colors her ragged words.  
  
          It seems that your farm’s new angel whore had no difficulty transferring her desire for you to your son. And that’s exactly what you wanted.  
  
          Kian tilts his head and takes Valerie into a forceful kiss, pressing his tongue into her mouth and battering hers with it. Valerie moans into their kiss and lets him have his way with her. But Kian doesn’t let the kiss drag on, and when he’s finished, he roughly shoves her down, onto her back again, and her body lightly bounces on the soft mattress.  
           
          Though you didn’t plan it, you happen to take a loud crunch of your apple _right_ as Kian jams his hips forward and forces his throbbing cock into the slit of Valerie’s pussy, forcing it to gape around his thick shaft as he tears through her hymen, deflowering her and claiming her virginity. Valerie winces as she weathers that brief, sharp pain of her flower being plucked, but that expression soon fades as she adjusts to that intense fullness of having a man inside her. Kian lets out a deep sigh as he’s no doubt pleasured beyond belief by the treat of having a virgin’s freshly-deflowered pussy coiled around his manhood, squeezing him with warm pressure from all directions. He doesn’t stay motionless for long.  
  
          Kian doesn’t bother starting gentle. He withdraws his cock – letting you and him see how soaked it already is from just that first plunge – only to promptly jam his hips into Valerie’s crotch again and slot his long cock back into his angel-bitch’s tight pussy. His balls audibly clap into her big ass as he takes her with deep, forceful thrusts, sheathing his twitching length to the hilt inside her with every stroke. Valerie takes her hands from the bedsheets and runs them upwards through her hair, and she closes her eyes and whimpers softly as her aggressive lover mercilessly pounds her. Her perky breasts both give fleshy bounces up and down on her chest, until Kian grabs one and sinks his furry fingers deep into the supple flesh.  
  
          Then, abruptly, Kian withdraws himself and snugly squeezes the base of his twitching cock. “Fuck,” he mutters.  
  
          “Close call?” you ask with a smug smirk.  
  
          “Yeah,” he admits with a raspy chuckle. “Got a little carried away. She feels really good. _Really_ fuckin’ good.”  
  
          He takes a breather for a moment, allowing Valerie the same. Valerie opens her eyes and meekly watches Kian between her legs.  
  
          Kian keeps the hiatus brief, and he soon returns his cock to Valerie’s papercut slit, which now has moisture webbing outwards to her inner thighs and lower ass. Kian grabs Valerie’s legs and brings them together above his manhood, with her feet prodding into his chest. He raises her legs high, straightening them, and after he brings Valerie a litter closer by pulling them towards him, he eases his hips forward and slips the crown of his wet cock between the folds of her puffy pussy once more, again invading and gaping her slit with his swollen member. Then, to your surprise, before he starts thrusting anew, he brings Valerie’s smooth, angelic feet to his mouth and starts sucking on her soft, girlish toes.  
  
          Kian fancies feet? You hadn’t seen that from him before. Or maybe he’s experimenting?  
  
          Valerie cutely whimpers again as Kian returns to pounding her pussy. In this position, his sharp thrusts make her thick thighs and plump rump lewdly jiggle and quake from the force of his slamming hips. Kian reaches for her breasts and takes another handful of one the pale, swaying orbs, squeezing the flesh just as tightly as before. His pussy-pummeling thrusts soon pick up into a pace that’s impossible to maintain for long, and it seems that he’ll accept his finish when it next arrives. He suddenly removes his hand from her breast and again raises Valerie’s head by the nape of her neck, wordlessly commanding her to look into his eyes.  
  
          “Start clenching,” he orders her. “Squeeze your pussy.”  
  
          Valerie’s gut visibly tightens. She’s such an obedient thing.  
  
          You strafe closer to Kian’s side of the bed to get a better view of the action. You see that his cock is now well and truly slicked from tip to root, soaked from its repeated thrusts into the wet sheath of Valerie’s squeezing cunny. Kian’s chest is heaving with breath now. Patches of his short fur have become visibly wet with sweat, and some of the brown locks of his shaggy hair are matted against the side of his head.  
  
          “Tell me to cum in in your virgin pussy,” Kian growls at her. The pleasure makes his voice throaty and breathy.  
  
          “Cum in my virgin pussy,” Valerie sweetly begs.  
  
          Your hand holding the apple is motionless at your side. This is too good of a show not to immerse yourself within.  
  
          The hot, wet flesh tightly coiled around Kian’s growingly sensitive cock soon visibly brings his pleasure back to its boiling point, and this time, he embraces his climax.  
  
          _“Fuuuck,”_ he groans in a prolonged breath.  
  
          Kian pumps his hips one last time and pushes his prick as far as it’ll go. He shoots off what you imagine is a substantial and sticky load of corrupted, fertile seed into the angel’s empty, unsoiled womb. He keeps himself sheathed to Valerie’s hilt from the time of his first spurt to the last, all while keeping the slit of the tip of his member pressed into the winking pucker of her cervix, forcing her womb to drink up every spermy rope of cum he fires off. He fills her womb _‘until it’s sloshing white,’_ just as you not long ago taught him to do when he seeks to assert himself over a woman in the truest way a man can: by impregnating her.  
  
          After his balls have finally emptied themselves into his angel-bitch, Kian grabs his root and sighs deeply as he slowly pulls himself out. After the crown of his cum-smeared cock slips from Valerie’s tight tunnel, her well-used gash lewdly drools a thick river of Kian’s white seed, which streams down the crack of her big ass and pools into a small sea atop the sheets beneath her. Damn. That’s an impressive load.  
  
          Could Valerie even bear Kian’s child? She’s not a mortal, and so you doubt that she can, but it’s no issue to you if she does. You’d gladly accept the child as a member of your family. You suspect that you’ll have grandchildren fathered by your sons running around here on your farm before long, and you certainly won’t turn your nose up at them or care for them any less than you would if they were born of your seed.  
  
          Kian gathers a good amount of his pussy-drooled cum onto his fingers from the hard-fucked hole of Valerie’s slightly-gaped slit. He leans forward and brings that hand to her lips.  
  
          “Suck it clean,” he orders her. “And swallow.”  
  
          Valerie does as he bids without hesitation. She sucks his fingers between her thin lips, and when she’s got the last of his salty seed licked away and gathered on her tongue, her throat shifts as she swallows. Kian then gathers more of his spilled load and repeats the process, feeding Valerie the cum that’s not only warm from being fresh from Kian’s balls but also warm from its brief rest within her own hot pussy. Depraved. And lovely.  
  
          When the stain on the sheets are all that remains of his cum, Kian rears back onto his knees and turns his head towards you. “Dad, can you toss me my satchel?” he asks.  
  
          “Sure.”  
  
          You grab his satchel from the carpet and chuck it to him. He effortlessly catches it in one hand and zips it open, and he withdraws a vial of pink, bubbling fluid. A lust draft. He pops off the lid and guzzles it empty. He’s going again. That must’ve been quite the fuck. Then again, how couldn’t it have been? Deflowering an angel and nutting inside her seems like a surefire recipe for bliss.  
  
          Kian returns the empty vial to his satchel and flings it onto the carpet by the bed. His wilting member suddenly stiffens as a fresh bead of pre-seed shoots up from his urethra. With a lecherous grin, he grabs Valerie and urges her to roll over.  
  
          “Get on your hands and knees,” Kian commands her.  
  
          It’s only moments later that Kian’s jammed his cock into Valerie’s slit again and is clapping his hips into her ass as he fucks her from behind. This could go on till dawn. But you’ve had your fill with this show.  
  
          You turn away and walk to the hall. “Don’t stay up all night, Kian,” you yell to him over your shoulder. “And grab something to eat. Don’t sleep on an empty stomach.”  
  
          You take another bite from your apple as the sounds of their lovemaking fade from your ears. You head outside through the entryway door and close it behind you. You look up at the night sky and admire the shining moon and glittering stars as you walk the dirt road towards your house.  
  
          You’ve eaten your apple to the core by the time you’re walking up the steps onto the front porch. You idly toss the core into the air and incinerate it into a tiny cloud of ash with an effortless snap of your fingers.  
  
          It’s peacefully quiet inside your house, and after you shut the front door behind you, silence blanks the air. A single candle is lit before you, burning atop a dish on a short stand at the far end of the hall, beside the door to your bedroom. Kylie always leaves that candle lit for you if you’re away from home at nightfall. She’s never once forgotten it.  
  
          You go to the candle and blow it out. You gently coil your hand around the doorknob and slowly turn it. You manage to silently open your door _and_ silently close it behind you, which is an important skill you’ve mastered, as Lillian downstairs has a knack for waking to even the _softest_ creak of wood.  
  
          In your bedroom, three candles are lit, in multiple corners: one on Kylie’s nightstand on her side of the bed, one on the table by your lounge chair, and one on your desk. It’s warm but bright lighting, and it’s the same you and Kylie use every time you make love. It’s to let you two clearly see _everything_ you both desire to see: every bead of sweat that’ll shine on you, every speck of moisture that’ll wet the lips of Kylie’s pussy, and every drop of your cum that’ll drool from that pussy’s tiny little hole.  
  
          Kylie lies on her side atop the bedsheets, with her back to you. The bedcovers are flipped over to the other side. She’s fully in the nude, as you expected of her. Her platinum-blonde, waist-length hair looks delightfully smooth. Clean and brushed. She thoroughly groomed herself for you.  
  
          The way Kylie lay there, the stunning hourglass frame of her slender body is on full display. It’s hard to believe just how far up and down your hands travel whenever you run them along her angular curves. Your eyes naturally soon go to her cute little bubble butt of firm, perfectly-rounded cheeks. It’s not a fat, juicy rump like some of your other wives, but it has an amazing shape, and it’s no less fun for you than any other. It doesn’t have quite the same jiggle that a fat ass has, no, but it does make for a lovely view when you have Kylie ride your cock with her back to you. It allows you to both admire the flawless shape of her butt _and_ watch her pink pussy swallow your throbbing length as she bounces on you.  
  
          Kylie’s wide hips create a prominent gap between her thighs, and even with her on her side, that gap grants you a tantalizing look at the slit of her perfect, pink pussy, which peeks out at you from the slightly-parted tuft of her soft cunt-feathers. Kylie recently began trying to keep those cunt-feathers parted with a small, specialized brush, and she’s had some success in that. Though you did enjoy the naughtiness of spreading those feathers with your fingers every time you went to eat your girl’s pussy or to fuck her, it’s also nice to be able to see her gorgeous sex without having your hands on it. More annoyingly, those tickling feathers also were sometimes painful when they touched your orgasming cock. And why would you want Kylie’s pussy to ever be hidden from you? It’s the prettiest of all your wives. It’s an _‘innie’_ as several of the others here are, but hers is of _perfect_ proportions. Her plump pussy mound has _just_ the right amount of flesh to it, and her puffy outer folds are _just_ fat enough to create an aesthetic slit that still allows sight of the slim, sticky lips of the young, pink flower tucked between them.  
  
          When you’re done admiring your precious daughter from afar, you finally walk to your bed, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it into the nearby weaved-wood laundry basket as you do. When you come to stand by your bed, Kylie turns her head towards you, and right as your girl’s gorgeous face of smiling, plump lips and gray, glittering eyes finds yours, you spank her firm butt as hard as you can manage – from the strength of your arm alone, that is – and damn does that _crack!_ ring off the walls.  
  
          Despite the suddenness, Kylie doesn’t flinch. She continues smiling up at you. “Hi, Daddy,” she greets you with soft and affectionate words. “I missed you.”  
  
          “I missed you too, sweetie.”  
  
          You’re not surprised that the sudden spank didn’t faze her, not with how often you’re spanking that tight, teenaged ass. And Kylie’s experienced everything, and all by you alone. A spank is _nothing._ You’ve done damn near every depravity imaginable to her, and none of it has ever troubled her.  
  
          You grip Kylie’s right cheek and squeeze it, curling your fingers into her firm flesh. Then you bring that hand up and spank her again, and then again and again. Kylie happily wiggles her rump for you as you do. Her ass may be more firm than it is juicy, but her cheeks still give your eyes a good jiggle, and it’s still a hell of a lot of fun to beat up.  
  
          What other way could you enjoy this sweet ass that you hadn’t before? Well, come to think of it, there is _one_ big thing you haven’t done to her – a hole of hers that you’ve yet to pluck – but you’re saving that for a special occasion. And with Kylie’s tight pussy giving you the euphoria that it does, you’re not exactly in a hurry for that.  
  
          But as you think of that, a memory comes to you and reminds you of something you’ve been meaning to do for a _long time,_ since the start of it all.  
  
          You put your hands on the side of Kylie’s body, with one on her upper thigh and the other on her waist, and you lower your head and bring your mouth towards her flesh. You take a big, mouth-filling bite of her butt as you clamp your jaw and drive your teeth well past the short layer of golden feathers and down into her flesh. It’s a hard bite, hard enough to hurt, but Kylie still doesn’t flinch. You swiftly follow it with another bite. Kylie giggles sweetly. Your breath leaves you in a quiet growl every time you take her flesh between your teeth, like an alpha wolf nipping its young lover . . . and in this case, its pup. You almost wish that Kylie didn’t have her soft coat of golden feathers right now, if only to let you see the teeth marks you’re leaving in this mouthwatering, bubble-shaped cheek of her little butt.  
  
          A few minutes later, you finally stand to your feet and grab the cheek of Kylie’s bum that you’d just devoured. “Did that hurt?” you ask as you glance at her, more curious than concerned.  
  
          “Only a little,” she says, still lovingly smiling. “But I liked it.”  
  
          You release her cheek and give her a sharp, sudden spank right where you’d sunk your teeth into her. Then you grab her ass again and grip it tight.  
  
          “Who owns this?” you ask as you curl your fingers as deeply into her cheek as it’ll allow you.  
  
          “You, Daddy,” Kylie answers, giving you that masterful, innocent look of dewy eyes and pouty lips that she knows you crave.  
  
          You give her a final sharp spank. “Damn right,” you mutter.  
           
          You press your other hand into Kylie’s shoulder and urge her to roll to her right, closer to the center of your bed, onto her back. She does so. You crawl into bed and join her. She spreads her long legs open wide for you and raises and rests her arms atop the pillows above her, offering the entirety of her young body to your eyes and your touch like the good girl she is. Her gray eyes glimmer meekly as she bats her long lashes at you, doing all she can to stoke the burning fire of your lust, wordlessly begging you to first use her body as your personal plaything and then to pound her poor little pussy until it’s sore. And that’s _exactly_ what you’re going to do.  
  
          Kylie’s body still looks no different to your eyes than it did on that night you first took her to your bed and made her a woman. She’s still physically a teenaged girl. She’s still _perfection._ Soft, golden feathers. A gorgeous, shapely face with a sloped nose and tall cheekbones. A sizable pair of perky breasts with pink nipples. A young, tight pussy that’s always drooling with excitement when her father is around, and a crinkled, unspoiled rosebud of an asshole that’s still waiting to take her father’s cock for the first time. Perfect . . . perfect . . . perfect.  
  
          And despite the fact that Kylie was deflowered by her father, despite that she was impregnated by the same seed that created _her_ , despite that she _birthed a son_ for the same man that fathered her . . . she’s lost none of her innocence. She knows how to be naughty now, absolutely, but at heart, she’s still a sweet, good-natured girl that simply loves her daddy above all else.  
  
          “I love you, Daddy,” Kylie says in fateful timing, pulling you out of your thoughts and drawing your eyes towards hers.  
  
          “I love you too, sweetie.”  
  
          And that’s enough sentimentality for now. It’s time for one of the best parts of the day: the part where you get to play with your teenaged daughter’s body to your lecherous heart’s content.  
  
          You pat Kylie’s plump pussy with the open palm of your hand and marvel at how soft it is and how her feathered folds are puffy enough to briefly jiggle when you bounce them. Kylie giggles again. Without a word, you lower your head between her legs. You press your lips onto her folds and dip your tongue deep into her soaked slit, immersing your tongue in the lustful mess inside your daughter’s teenaged pussy. Kylie whimpers and pouts her lips as your tongue runs through her. When you’ve got a good amount of Kylie’s lubricant swimming in your mouth around your tongue, you remove your head from her crotch. Her taste is addictingly pungent, a little salty and a little sour. It’s a taste of flesh like no other. Your wives each have their own slightly unique flavors, and Kylie of course has your favorite. And there’s still another delicious taste your girl can offer you.  
  
          You lower your head to Kylie’s bust and glomp your mouth over one of her breasts, taking her pink nipple between the center of your open lips. You hollow your cheeks and suck firmly inwards, and her milk-swollen breast immediately rewards you with a creamy jet of sugary, corrupted milk that almost tastes as though it’s been blended with syrup. You gulp it and promptly suckle away. You nurse for a good while from your daughter’s hyperactive mammary gland, filling your stomach with her milk and drowning that apple from earlier. Kylie mewls and pets your cheek as you suckle from her teat.  
  
          It’s no wonder Hugo’s always eager to nurse from Kylie. Her feathery breasts are like two soft, cozy pillows of flesh, and her milk tastes like a sugary treat. You’re surprised that he doesn’t try to spend every hour of the day sitting in her lap with one of her tits in his mouth.  
  
          A growing feeling of fullness snaps you out of your breastfeeding lull. There’s a swishy feeling in your gut, and it’s accompanied with a pleasant, strangely soothing warmth. That’s enough of Kylie’s milk. Anymore and you might put yourself to sleep.  
  
          Just before you remove your mouth from Kylie’s teat, you suckle up one last mouthful of milk, and it’s a mouthful that you don’t swallow. When you shift upwards and bring your face towards Kylie’s, she slightly parts her lips and raises her head to meet you halfway, expecting a deep, passionate kiss. That’s what you give her, but when you open your lips and connect them with hers, you surprise her by dropping that creamy blend of her milk and your saliva from your mouth and into hers. You pull away and find her smiling at you. Then, as you watch, she opens her mouth and noisily gargles your gift to her, still smiling around her open lips. She does it endlessly, and you soon realize that she’ll do it until you instruct her to stop. You grab her chin and gently close her mouth, and with that, Kylie obediently gulps it down.  
  
          Kylie rests her head down again, and as she licks her lips clean of the droplets of milk that her gargling had spattered over them, you spontaneously make your decision on what to do next.  
  
          You get on your knees and scoot towards Kylie’s head. You tug down and kick off the last of your clothes, freeing your long, throbbing manhood. Kylie abandons her smile for that look of innocence again, and her dewy eyes lock on your cock as it twitches above her face. Though she’s no doubt getting an intoxicating whiff of the natural, musky scent of your erection, she obediently stays put. She’s awaiting your instruction like a good girl.  
  
          “Kiss it,” you finally command her.  
  
          Kylie raises her head and does just that. She lovingly smooches your cock with her soft, slightly-moist lips, all while keeping her eyes wide open and keeping them on your length. She worships your kingly member from base to crown with loving kisses, and though they’re designed more to display her affection for you and your cock than they are to intensely pleasure you, the light, teasing touches still manage to urge a thick, clear bead of pre-seed into ooze from your slit. Kylie’s eyes lock on it the moment it appears.  
  
          “Can I lick it now, Daddy?” Kylie pleads, pouting her lips as she finally looks away from your cock and points her begging gaze up at your eyes.  
  
          You nod.  
  
          Kylie opens her mouth and runs the warm flat of her wet tongue over your crown, lapping away that drop of early seed. She then equally spreads her attention everywhere else, licking every inch of your long cock front to back, getting a good taste of you. She polishes you off enough to make you shine with her moisture, and occasionally she ventures far enough to slurp at the bottom of each of her father’s balls. The firm strokes of her tongue along your member grant you some gentle blooms of warm pleasure – particularly that licks that travel the underside of your shaft – but you’re soon eager to feel more. Thankfully, Kylie has much more to give.  
  
          “Suck it,” you command.  
  
          Kylie rolls onto her stomach and raises her head, properly aligning her mouth with your manhood and readying herself to pleasure you. She licks her plump lips to moisten them one final time, and without further ado, she puckers them and presses them onto your cock. Your thick, spit-slicked crown parts her soft lips and is soon greeted by Kylie’s stroking tongue as it firmly circles your glans and sloppily slathers you with yet more saliva. The squeezing pressure from her suckling lips gets closer to the base of your cock as she pushes her mouth down your length, and she stops only when your manhood pokes at the back of her throat.  
  
          Kylie hollows her cheeks as she starts bobbing her head, moving that snug seal of her lips’ suction up and down your length, all while using her tongue to expertly pleasure all of your cock that’s currently inside her mouth at any moment. She’s a talented cocksucker, and she has hot pleasure swelling inside you in very short order. If she hadn’t yet gotten a full taste of you tonight, then she’s certainly getting it now. She cups your balls in one of her soft hands and gently fondles them with feather-light touches from her slender, feminine fingers. Kylie’s blowjob gets sloppier as she salivates more around your cock, to the point that drool is running down her lower lip and your shaft is dripping with her spit. She sucks you off to sounds that grow wetter and louder, _slurps_ and _schlips.  
_  
          Kylie happily and girlishly kicks her legs back and forth in the air as she busily sucks you off and nurses on your crown. That sight brings a smile to your lips. It’s adorable to see how much fun your sweet girl has when she’s sucking her father’s cock.  
  
          When Kylie next bobs her sucking lips down your cock, you surprise her by forcibly pushing into the back of her head with your hand, forcing her lips to seal at the base of your cock as your crown pushes into her throat. She starts sputtering and gagging uncontrollably, but even as she does, she obediently doesn’t try to push back against your hand, and she mindfully continues squeezing her lips and pleasuring you with her tongue to the best of her abilities. Kylie’s deepthroating draws a blissful sigh from you, as at last the entirety of your cock is enjoying some amount of heat and wetness within your girl’s mouth. But being that you’re not interested in making her suffer or choking her unconscious, you soon release the pressure from her head and let Kylie ease her lips a few inches off your cock. She then refills her lungs with deeps breaths of air through her nose, still not breaking that tight seal her sucking lips have made around your member. When she’s regained her composure, she starts sucking you off just as she was before.  
  
          Eventually, Kylie pulls her lips off of your crown with an audible _pop._ “Do you want me to swallow your cum tonight, Daddy?” Kylie asks as she peers up at you with a childlike curiosity.  
  
          “No, sweetie.” You reach for her face and lovingly cup her cheek. “We want you pregnant again, don’t we?”  
  
          “Mhm,” Kylie hums happily with a warm smile and sharp nod.  
  
          And it’s about time for that, isn’t it? This night can’t go on forever. It’s time to take a crack at fertilizing your girl. Kylie’s empty womb is badly in need of being filled by her father’s fertile seed.  
  
          “That’s enough,” you tell her. “Get up on your knees.”  
  
          Kylie gives your cockhead a parting kiss. After she rises to her knees as you commanded her to, you lie on your back and rest your head atop your pillow, with your cock standing tall and stiff at your crotch.  
  
          “Come here, baby,” you say to Kylie as you tap your groin. “Sit your pussy on Daddy’s dick. You get to start tonight.”  
  
          Kylie swings her left leg to your other side and rises higher on her knees. She briskly runs two of her fingers over her tongue before lowering that hand to her crotch.  
  
          “Look how wet my pussy is for you, Daddy,” she says softly.  
  
          You watch as Kylie spreads the folds and lips of her pussy with her slender fingers. As they open, multiple strings of moisture stretch from each side before pulling far enough to break. The inner pink of her cunt is shining wet, and towards the bottom of her spread flower, her little fuckhole between its ring of ridged flesh is bubbling and frothing with the pungent nectar of a woman. Your sweet girl has utterly soaked herself, and she did it all from her love and lust for her father.  
  
          Kylie releases her pussy and lets it close. She dips those same two fingers into her soaked folds and rapidly twirls them around her sticky vulva, as the activity fills your ears with obscenely lewd _squishing_ and _squelching._  
  
          “Listen to it, Daddy. That’s how badly my little pussy wants you,” she says. She gazes into your eyes with that same sweet look of innocence. A look she perfected so long ago.  
  
          Your cock twitches as a dot of pre-seed oozes from its crown. Kylie knows how to tempt you. She also knows not to keep you wanting.  
  
          “Let’s get you inside, Daddy,” Kylie says as she reaches down for your cock.  
  
          She wraps her soft, feathery fingers around the base of your shaft. She begins lowering her hips and guiding herself to you, and as the gap between her pussy and your cockhead closes, you get a good feel of the humid air being breathed out of her needy slit. A ticklish bolt of pleasure flickers through your groin when your cockhead finally prods into her warm outer folds.  
  
          “. . . where you belong,” she adds.  
  
          With your sexes properly aligned, Kylie sharply brings her hips downwards and impales her plump pouch of a pussy onto your cock. Her slit gapes first for your swollen cockhead and then swiftly swallows the rest of your length, as your thick, twitching manhood pushes between her pink lips and ascends inside her snug tunnel. Warm, moist flesh envelops your cock with every inch that slips inside her tight pussy, but that sensation doesn’t stay constant, as Kylie then begins rising and falling atop you, creating an unbelievably delightful friction as her ridged walls brush against your iron-hard length from each and every direction.  
  
          She’s just so . . . fucking . . . _tight._ You can feel the beat of her heart as it lightly pulsates within her walls, and you don’t doubt that she can feel yours too as your cock throbs with it.  
  
          “I can feel your heartbeat, Daddy,” Kylie whispers, having your exact same thought.  
  
          “I can feel yours too, sweetie,” you whisper back.  
  
          “We’re a perfect match.”  
  
          “Yeah. We are.”  
  
          Kylie reaches for your hands. You let her grab and hold them. She lovingly curls her fingers through the gaps between yours.  
  
          An increasingly intense heat swirls beneath your flesh as your manhood repeatedly impales your daughter’s pussy. Your cock throbs and swells thicker with more blood as more electric pleasure runs through your nerves, and that added thickness only exacerbates your girl’s tightness, strengthening your pleasure. Kylie’s breasts lewdly jiggle on her chest as she bounces on your cock. At your crotch, Kylie’s ass thwaps into your groin at the bottom of every plunge, and though you’re tempted to grab each of the cute cheeks of her bouncing bum, you’re enjoying holding hands with your precious girl as the two of you make love. There’s no reason to ruin that.  
  
          Knowing that she ought to keep things fresh, Kylie lets herself fall all the way to your groin, taking every inch of your cock into her cunt. She then begins swiveling her hips left and right and suddenly squeezes her pelvic muscles around you as she does, grinding your cock inside her warm, snug sheath as she simultaneously tightens her inner walls against it. That sharp sensation of her squeezing muscles takes you by surprise and pulls a gasp from your lips. You feel a large blob of pre-seed swim up and out of your length, where it joins her wetness. And Kylie must be feeling a similarly intense pleasure to yours right now, because her raspy, mewling breaths are beginning to sound more and more like throaty moans.  
  
          Kylie slips one of her hands out of yours and brings it to her crotch, where she starts deeply rubbing her mound, pressing into her clitoral hood.  
  
          “Are you close, sweetie?” you ask.  
  
          “Mhm,” she hums in a sweet whine as she bites her bottom lip.  
  
          “Here, let me.”  
  
          You brush that hand from Kylie’s cunt and free that space for yours. Before you touch her, you direct practiced thoughts of lust and pleasure to the tip of your forefinger, and when you’re satisfied that you’ve charged it well enough, you bring it towards Kylie’s pussy and circle it around her stiff clitoris within its hood. Instantly, your touch and the powerful magics you’d infused within it have Kylie crying out in a shrill, girlish moan. She sharply arches her back, flicking her hair behind herself as her entire body tenses, and she bunches her arms together at her sides and tightly contracts her wings. Kylie’s pelvic muscles start rhythmically clenching in orgasm, and that draws a pleasured groan from you as her cunt squeezes you in its heat like it otherwise never quite could. Those contractions get you dangerously close to your finish yourself, but you manage to wield your will and fight it off. This isn’t a position to end it in. You want gravity ensuring that your girl’s womb stays full of her father’s seed.  
  
          When Kylie’s orgasm fades, the tension gradually leaves her body. She slowly slackens and slouches, with your cock still motionlessly buried within her. A lock of her platinum hair falls over her face as she hangs her head and lets out a long, ragged breath. She stretches her great wings to their full, ceiling-touching extent before folding them again. She then brushes her hair from her face, revealing her half-lidded eyes and weakened smile.  
  
          “Thank you, Daddy,” Kylie whispers.  
  
          “You’re welcome, baby,” you tell her, smiling with her.  
  
          Then, without another word, you abruptly shoot forward. You wrap an arm around Kylie’s hips and flip her over and onto her back, with her head on your pillow and with your knees planted on the bedsheets between her open legs. You take her into a hungry, assertive kiss, invading her mouth and slathering her tongue with your own.  
  
          “My turn,” you growl between kisses.  
  
          “Fuck me hard, Daddy,” Kylie begs in a whisper.  
  
          As if you weren’t already going to.  
  
          Kylie entwines her legs around your hips, and with that, you begin pounding her pussy. You savagely thrust your cock in and out of her little hole with violent slams of your hips into her crotch. You continue your deep kiss as you ravage her, claiming her mouth with your tongue as you claim her cunt with your manhood. You force apart Kylie’s youthful walls with every thrust, and each thrust is more pleasurable than the one before it. That pleasure only triples when she again starts suddenly and sharply squeezing her pelvic muscles around you, urging more pre-seed to ooze from you in a sign of what’s rapidly becoming imminent. Kylie’s well-trained muscles coil around you almost firmly enough to slow your thrusts, despite how soaked your girl’s tunnel is, and her cunt takes your throbbing member with a delightful contrast of gripping friction and soaked ease of passage. Just as it was when you took her virginity, Kylie’s tight, teen pussy still remains as the _perfect_ hole for your cock, the perfect sheath to snuggle it and squeeze it in warmth and wetness until it’s spurting and inseminating her, making her womb into the breeding grounds for your rich cum that it’s meant to be. There’s no better seed to fertilize Kylie’s young garden than her father’s.  
  
          You break your kiss and raise yourself to your arm’s extent, keeping yourself propped up over Kylie with balled-up fists jammed into the mattress on each side of her as you take her like an animal. Your pummeling hips haven’t slowed, and you still fuck Kylie with the same forceful thrusts that rock her body and violently bounce her fleshy breasts. Kylie matches every thumping of your crotch into hers with cute, high-pitched _ah’_ s and _unh’_ s, whimpering as her father dominates her and pillages her poor pussy, as you claim the deepest depths of her youthful body.  
  
          There’s a sheen of sweat shining on you now. Your cock is aching for release. It’s ready to shoot off inside the tight tunnel coiled around it and to deposit its seed into the womb its crown prods against. Your heart is racing now, and you know that Kylie can feel the beat of it as it rhythmically swells your member. Her walls are still coiling tightly around you, and there aren’t many more thrusts until she has you nearing your climax. The hot pressure building at the base of your cock is nearing its boiling point.  
  
          As lust burns like a fire in your chest, aggression burns alongside it. You grab Kylie’s throat and squeeze, not enough to choke her, but enough to send the clear message that her and her little cunt belong to you.  
  
          “Cum inside me, Daddy,” Kylie pleads fervently, begging you with an eagerness that’s unfazed by your menacing grip. “Cum in my pussy.”  
  
          Matching her submissive words, Kylie’s legs spread wider, giving you the best angle to take her young pussy as deeply as you can. As your spine tingles and your cock swells to its fullest and gets ready for that first thick squirt, you slightly shift yours and Kylie’s positioning by grabbing her ass and somewhat angling it up, letting you take her at a more downwards angle and piledrive her pussy.  
  
          “You want your father to knock you up again?” you ask breathily.  
  
          “Yes, Daddy.”  
  
          Then let there be life.  
  
          The pressure at the base of your cock explodes into a fiery bliss. You bring Kylie’s ass towards your hips and make it meet you halfway as you violently thrust your cock into the hilt of her gaping slit one last time. You press your crown into her cervix and make a direct line of travel for your incoming seed to go where it rightfully belongs. Then, at last, every nerve in your body sings with ecstasy as your cock starts spewing thick, rich ropes of white, dumping your fertile seed directly into Kylie’s waiting womb. Your chest rumbles with a low, pleasured groan as your gut tightens and contracts. Your cock twitches out rope after rope that pools into what you know is a sea of white seed inside her. When your flow finally lessens, you thrash into your daughter’s pussy a few more times, using that friction on your sensitive cock to urge it into oozing out the last of your cum, all while groaning from the bottom of your lungs.  
  
          The fire of your pleasure eventually flickers away. When you’ve got no more to shoot off and your cock starts softening, you quickly grab a pillow from the top of the bed and wedge it under Kylie’s ass, to keep it raised and to keep her vagina angled upwards. You rear up and onto your knees and slowly pull your cum-smeared cock out of Kylie’s sloppy-with-spunk pussy, inch by inch. When your wide crown finally slips from her with a faintly audible _schlip,_ as that last touch of her lips against your member brings a sharp tickle of pleasure that has you sighing deeply, Kylie’s gaped cunt closes and returns to its former pink slit, good as new.  
  
          You give Kylie’s spread thighs a few appreciative pats. You bring a hand to her cunt and gently pinch and squish the folds of her pouch, making her pink slit drool a trickle of your white cum, the small amount that didn’t have the space to sit in her full womb. _Gods_ . . . you love seeing that little pink pussy creamed. You’ll never get tired of seeing the most private and pure of your daughter’s flesh soiled with her father’s seed. _Never.  
_  
          You lean down again and take Kylie into a gentle kiss. When you pull away, her eyes are sparkling with affection.  
  
          “I love you, Daddy.”  
  
          “I love you too.”  
  
          You scoot over until your knees are down at Kylie’s side, and when you hold your limp, cum-smeared cock towards her face, she needs no command to open her mouth and take it between her plump lips. With your softness having robbed a few inches from you, Kylie has no trouble wrapping her lips around the base of your cock as she cleans you. She thoroughly runs her tongue all along and all around your length, licking her father’s cock clean of some of the cum that her own tight pussy had just squeezed out of him. She makes good time, and when she’s confident that she’s polished you off to perfection, she loudly pops you out of her mouth and gives your crown a loving kiss.  
  
          You roll onto your back beside her and rest your head on the other pillow. Kylie starts showering your cheek with slow, soft kisses, giving you tender loving, just like she always does after you fuck her. You snap your fingers and extinguish every candle but the one on the nightstand beside you, readying you and Kylie to wind down and relax before you sleep.  
  
          Kylie gives your cheek one last kiss before nuzzling her head against the side of yours and sighing. You grab a resting lock of her white-blonde hair from the bedsheets and start gently running your fingers back and forth through it, enjoying its softness.  
  
          “Daddy, do you remember the Princess Song?” Kylie asks.  
  
          A smile curls along your lips. “I do,” you say with a nod.  
  
          “Have I told you before that, when I got bigger and you stopped singing it to me, I still sang it to myself before I slept?”  
  
          You chuckle under your breath. “No, you hadn’t.”  
  
          “Usually I sang it in my head . . . but sometimes I sang it aloud.  
_‘I’m hushed now, I’m silent, and I won’t cry,  
          Because my Daddy the King has made for me a lull-a-by,’”_  
  
          – She sings each word soft and smooth, and _Gods_ does she have a beautiful singing voice –  
  
          _“‘The King’s daughter always has nothing to fear,  
          And so I will never shed another single tear,  
          Everything in this world I see,  
          I can say ‘this all belongs to me,’  
          For me, my Daddy will make the world spin and turn,  
          And if it won’t, my Daddy’ll make it wither and burn.  
          This world’s my Daddy’s and that means it’s mine too,  
          Because my Daddy’s love for me is endless and true.’”  
_  
          Kylie put her own spin on it to reflect her father’s absence. That’s cute of her . . . but it also brings some sadness to your heart. Was it truly the right decision to have her sleep in her nest and not with you when she was little? Sometimes you aren’t sure.  
  
          “Why did you still sing it?” you ask. “Were you still scared?”  
  
          “No, I just . . . I liked thinking about you before I slept.”  
  
          “Do you still sing it in your head?”  
  
          “I don’t need to. I always have you right beside me.”  
  
          Something flashes behind the curtains of each of your bedroom windows. You and Kylie both notice it and raise your heads. After the flash, the curtains glow with a gentle, white light. You start hearing a strange, muffled noise that oddly sounds like it’s coming from above your head.  
  
          “What’s going on?” Kylie asks.  
  
          You slowly shake your head. “I don’t know.”  
  
          You roll out of bed and stand onto your feet. You suddenly hear distant shouting, and as soon as you do, something clicks in your head as you realize that the muffled noise is the crackling of a fire. A _large_ fire. _  
_  
          “Stay here,” you order Kylie with a quick glance towards her as you dart to the other side of your bed. You slip on your breeches but bother with nothing more. You throw open the bedroom door and sprint down the hall. The windows in the rooms you pass are also alight.  
  
          Only a moment later, you’re pushing through the front door and stepping onto the porch, and as you do, to your horror, you find your entire farm ablaze.  
  
          Every house – including yours – is ignited with roaring, white flames, billowing towering pillars of pitch-black smoke as the fires devour the air and eat away at each house’s roof. Down the road at the edge of your farm, between the two southmost farmhouses, Kian is clothed in only his breeches, just as you are, and he holds his two daggers at arm’s length in front of him, doing his best to keep at bay two armed, crimson imps. They glare at him with narrowed, bright-red eyes as they each hold the tips of their longswords towards him. Between Kian’s wide-standing legs, Vapula lay on her back, clutching her bleeding thigh.  
  
          One of the two imps staring Kian down begin strafing clockwise to Kian’s left. He’ll be doomed once they’re on both sides of him.  
  
          Making a snap decision on which crisis needs your attention first, you hurry to the steps of your porch and leap from the top step to the dirt. You sprint towards Kian and Vapula, and with a flick and flourish of your hand you send a bolt of whitefire hissing down the road. Kian and the imps turn their heads towards it when they see and hear it. The imp strafing around Kian doesn’t react in time, and the firebolt thumps into his back and detonates him into a blinding explosion of white flames. With no hand to hold it, the departed’s sword falls blade-first to the ground and sinks a few inches into the earth when it hits. When the short-lived burst of whitefire flickers away, the plume of fine, black ash it leaves behind drifts slowly down to the dirt.  
  
          Kian whips his head towards the remaining imp and darts at him with a crouching lunge, taking the imp by surprise and sticking his belly with both of his daggers before athletically rolling away. The imp tenses and clutches at his wounds, and his legs buckle as his strength leaves him. He stumbles and falls onto the flat of his back with a grunt, and his sword bounces out of his hand as he hits the dirt. Kian swiftly sheaths his left-hand dagger and snatches the imp’s weapon from the ground, and he turns to you just as you come to stop beside them all.  
  
          “Dad,” Kian yells over the fires, his voice shaking with fear. “The—the houses, and—and Vapula.”  
  
          You slowly rotate with an arm raised and hand outstretched, and as you will it to be, with an immense spending of your strength, each of the fires burning atop the homes are snuffed out. When the last fire dies, its crackling dies with it, leaving an eerily sudden quiet that’s dotted only by Vapula and the wounded imp’s low groans. And with the light from the fires gone, the moonlight does little to help you make out any figures in the dark. You snap your fingers and summon that same whitefire wisp to follow you and hover beside your head, and with that taken care of, you turn and face Kian.  
  
          “Is Valerie sleeping in stone?” you ask hurriedly.  
  
          “Yeah.”  
  
          “Then go and get everyone else out of their homes,” you command in an even faster flurry of words. _“Now!”  
_  
          Kian nods and takes off towards the house nearest to him, the home of his birthmother and mouse-siblings. As he leaves, you lower yourself onto your knees beside Vapula, and you give her a quick lookover. Her thigh is endlessly seeping blood, but she’s still breathing well, and she still has strong color in her cheeks. She’s not on death’s door just yet. And you’ll make sure she doesn’t get there.  
  
          “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, shame afflicting her words.  
  
          “Don’t be,” you tell her as you hover your hands over her wounded thigh. “You’ll be fine here in a moment.”  
  
          She weakly shakes her head. “It’s my fault. They baited me. They got the better of me.”  
  
          Behind you, Kian shepherds Amily and the sickly Alaya, Averie, and Natalia out of their house. They’re all garbed in their bedwear of nothing more than nightshirts that reach their thighs, and Amily carries a lit lantern in her hand. Kian guides them to stand in the middle of the road a safe twenty or so yards behind you, and they watch you in frightened silence as Kian leaves them to fetch more of the others.  
  
          As you move your hands in smooth motions over her wound, with yet more spending of your energy, you slowly but surely instruct Vapula’s torn flesh and severed blood vessels to repair themselves and sew themselves whole. And it’s still not taking a toll on you. You’re still yet to feel a hit from any of the magic you’ve just weaved in the past few minutes.  
  
          “I wasn’t prepared for them,” Vapula mutters, facing the starry sky. “I shouldn’t be here. You deserve a better wife than me. Strength deserves strength . . . and I don’t deserve the dirt beneath us.”  
  
          _“Oh, stop,”_ you grumble. “Gods, you demons can be awfully melodramatic, you know that? I’m not giving you permission to banish yourself, so don’t even get that fucking thought, alright?”  
  
          Kelly, Cain, and Hannah trot out of their barn with Kian and join Amily and your mouse-girls. Kian darts off again.  
  
          Vapula’s flesh is nearly whole. When you glance up at her face, you’re shocked to see tears running down her cheeks, as their moisture shines in the light of your wisp. “You’re strong,” she says. “I’m weak. You’re dishonoring yourself. You should just end me.”  
  
          Anger wells in your chest and tightens your lungs. As soon as Vapula’s wound is completely healed, you lean closer to her and violently grab her face. “Listen to me, you dumb bitch,” you snarl at her as you force her to look your way. “You’ve got my child inside you. _My_ child. Of _my_ seed. You will _not_ leave this place, and you will _not_ hurt yourself, _do you understand?”_ The last words leave your lips in a spittle-flinging hiss, and droplets of your saliva fleck against Vapula’s face.  
  
          Vapula’s eyes bulge when she takes in what you’ve just told her. “Truly?” she asks.  
  
          You nod. “Wait a week if you don’t believe me,” you growl at her. “You’re about to start showing.”  
  
          Kian leads Whitney, Sophie, and Hugo out from the door of their shared home. Kian then turns and sprints down the road, towards your house.  
  
          “It’ll be strong,” Vapula says as her eyes flit between yours, radiating an affection you’ve never before seen from her. “Like you.”  
  
          You shift your hand from Vapula’s jaw and cup her cheek as you give her a quick, comforting kiss, and Vapula’s lips gladly move to meet with and catch against yours. When you pull your mouth away, you look her in her eyes.  
  
          “Can you stand?” you ask.  
  
          “I think so.”  
  
          You take each of Vapula’s hands and gently help her upwards, and sure enough, she’s able to firmly plant her feet and keep herself upright with her legs.  
  
          You stand to your feet and look to the small crowd of your family. “Whitney,” you yell to her. “Come here.”  
  
          Your heavily-pregnant dog-wife hurriedly obeys and jogs over to you. As she prefers to sleep in the nude, she made herself decent only with a white bedsheet that she holds wrapped around her.  
  
          “Are you two okay?” she asks, her eyes wide with concern.  
  
          “We’re fine,” you answer brusquely . “Listen, I want you to check the roof of every home and see how badly the fires damaged them. If any of them might collapse, I don’t want anyone sleeping under them until you’ve got them repaired.”  
  
          “I’ll get right on it,” she says with a nod. She starts to turn away, but you grab her shoulder and stop her.  
  
          “One more thing,” you add as she faces you again. “And do this first. Do you remember your old crossbow, the one I had you give to me? It’s in my bedroom, in my trunk. Get it and bring it here. Quickly.”  
  
          Whitney nods again and runs for your house.  
  
          “What do you want to do with him?” Vapula asks as she glares at the wounded imp, who still lay flat on his back, groaning and bleeding.  
  
          “I’ll get to him in a moment.”  
  
          Kylie, Rebecc, and the crying and shrieking Lillian are all guided out of your home by Kian just as Whitney passes them and heads inside. Kylie has clothed herself in a brassiere and panties. She’s not tautly cupping her crotch. She must’ve put one of her plugs inside her cunt. She and the others join the rest of your family. Kian strides past them, joining your side.  
  
          “You’re gonna make him pay, right?” Kian asks, glaring at the imp.  
  
          “They all will,” you reply coldly.  
  
          “Daddy?” Hugo calls out. He’s watching you with eyes widened with both curiosity and terror.  
  
          “It’s alright, Hugo,” you assure him. “Bad men came here, but I stopped them. Everyone’s safe. You should be able to go back to bed here soon.”  
  
          Lillian still shrieks in Rebecc’s arms, unsoothed by her birthmother’s usually-effective attempts at rocking her and gently shushing her.  
  
          “Nurse her,” you tell Rebecc.  
  
          Rebecc looks to you and nods. She pulls down the stretchable collar of her nightshirt far enough to pull out one of her breasts. She shifts Lillian in her arms and brings her baby’s mouth to her teat, and Lillian begins nursing immediately. Her muffled wails soon fade to silence as she suckles, as the softness of her mother’s flesh and the warmth of her creamy milk quickly soothe her. You and Rebecc are both aware that it’s a bad idea to make a habit of nursing an infant to sleep, for a multitude of reasons, but this night is not a typical one. In fact, you’re going to make sure this night never happens again.  
  
          Whitney returns with her crossbow. _Your_ crossbow, that is. It’s an imposing weapon of reddish wood and black steel, and it’s just as deadly as it appears to be. Whitney hands it to you. You then in turn hand it to Vapula.  
  
          “You want to repent for failing me? Start practicing with that,” you tell her as she rotates the weapon in her hands. _“Vigorously._ I want you proficient with it by the end of the week. You don’t have to be a master of it by then, but I want you to know how to use it, and how to use it well. Do you think you can do that for me?”  
  
          Her violet eyes flick upwards from the weapon, meeting yours, shining with a devilish glint. “Easily,” she says with a wicked smirk, her confidence finally returning to her. About time. You certainly didn’t want her to remain that sniveling crybaby she was a moment ago. She’s better than that. And behavior like that isn’t why you took her as a wife.  
  
          Now, it’s time to put this night to rest.  
  
          You walk to the imp that still lay groaning and writhing, clutching his bleeding gut. His wounds don’t seem as though they’ll kill him in the next few minutes, and that’s good. You want him alive. You lower yourself onto one knee beside him and snatch the wide satchel from the belt along his waist, and he pays you little mind as you do. You open the satchel and find a pair of scrolls within, and when you unroll the scrolls and take a quick look at each of them, you realize that they’re exactly what you expected them to be.  
  
          “Kian, take these,” you instruct him as you hold the satchel and scrolls out to him.  
  
          “What are they?” he asks as he comes and grabs them from you.  
  
          “Whitefire scrolls. I figured as much. There’s no way these two summoned fires as big as those on the strengths of their own magic.”  
  
          Kian doesn’t leave your side, and so you look up at him and nod your head towards the rest of your family. “Go,” you tell him. “Give me some space.”  
  
          He nods and obeys.  
  
          When he’s gone, you face the imp again. “Look at me,” you order him.  
  
          He turns his head your way and glares at you with a half-grimace, half-scowl.  
  
          “Why have you done this?” you ask him calmly, speaking quiet enough to keep your words out of the earshot of your family.  
  
          “You know why,” he answers between gritted teeth.  
  
          You breathe a short sigh. “I’m not a violent man, imp,” you muse. “Never have been. I wasn’t in my old life, and I’m not now. I have no lust for blood. I have no desire to kill. But as you can see from your friend over there . . . I’m no pacifist. He was the first life I’ve taken in, Gods, I don’t know _how_ long. I was actually starting to be quite proud of that fact. And here you’ve gone and ruined it.” You look away and give another sigh, and then you look to the imp again and shake your head. “Do you expect me not to retaliate for this? Does Zetaz truly think me that cowardly, that disarmed?”  
  
          “The fuck are you gonna do?” he asks with a suffering grunt, still clutching at his bleeding belly. “There’s thirty of us. How many of you here can fight? Two? Three? Those aren’t good odds.”  
  
          “Are you assuming that one of you is worth one of me?”  
  
          “Do you think you’re worth thirty?”  
  
          “I’m worth _a thousand,”_ you snarl at him, speaking the last two words under a hissing breath as your temper flares. You grab him by his throat and squeeze chokingly tight. “You think those were fires? I’ll show you a fucking fire.” You shove his head away and stand to your feet.  
  
          You pace away from the imp. When you’re standing halfway between him and your family, you turn towards him again. “Your little gang has done something of _great_ importance here tonight, imp,” you shout, letting every ear on this farm hear your words. “Years from now, when Mareth belongs to me, when I have a wife from _every_ corner of this world and sons and daughters of _every_ race living, _you all_ will be remembered as the first example of what happens to those who attack my family!” _  
_  
          The imp gives a weak laugh, and he winces when that laugh causes him pain. “Enough,” he mutters as he looks your way. “Get it over with. Go on. Kill me.”  
  
          You shake your head. “I’m not killing you.”  
  
          His eyes lower into a glare. “What, you want to torture me first? Then why don’t you have your fuckin’ kids watch you while you do it?”  
  
          You shake your head again. “I’m not torturing you either.”  
  
          “Well do fuckin’ _something!”_ he sneers as he looks skywards. “This hurts like a bitch.”  
  
          “Don’t worry. I’ll be healing that.”  
  
          The imp looks to you. “What?”  
  
          You go to him and kneel beside him again as a half-smirk curls along the left side of your lip. “You’re going to make all of this _much easier_ for me.”  
  
          “I’m not doing shit for you.”  
  
          “Yes, you are.”  
  
          The imp spits into your face. “Fuck you.”  
  
          You laugh as you wipe the spit from your cheek. “See, imp, the nice thing about being me is that I never take no for an answer,” you muse. “In the end, I _always_ get what I want. And if you’re standing in the way of that, you’ll do one of two things. You’ll burn, or . . .” you pause and prod your forefinger into the imp’s brow. “. . . you’ll serve.” _  
_  
          The imp’s body tenses in a jolt as you forcefully bore a hole into his thoughts, slithering your mind deep inside his.


End file.
